C6e  JLitirarp 

otti)e 

caniuergitp  of  jfl^ottft  Carolina 


J^tnsm  Q^emorial  Collection 

3n  SPemorp  of 

William  Inland  l^tnan 

Qiben  bp  |)i0  tiaue|)ter 

aparp  Eilp  l^enan  flatlet 


DEVOTED  TO  THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  SOUTH 
Q  j  O  IN  THE  CIVIL  WAR 


V^  t  ^_, 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 

THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 

Digitized  by  the  Internet  Arcliive 

in  2010  witli  funding  from 

University  of  Nortli  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/belhaventalescroOOharr 


BELHAVEN  TALES 

CROW'S  NEST 

UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 


"I    HAVE    COME    TO    CLAIM    MY    DEAD." 


BELHAVEN   TALES 

CROW'S   NEST 

UNA  AND   KING   DAVID 


BY 

MRS.  BURTON   HARRISON 

Author  of"  THE  ANCLOMANIACS."  "  FLOIFER  DE  HUN- 
DRED."  "SIVEET   BELLS   OUT  OF    TUNE,"    ETC.,    ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1892 


Col'VUlGHT,  1885,  1S87,  1889,  1S91,  1892, 
i!Y  THE  Century  Co. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  DeVinne  Press 


To  B.  H. 


Sl5 

580499       yi^i'ok^u 


CONTENTS 


Belhaven  Tales 

L'Envoi  1 

I  When  the  Century  Came  In  14 

II  Penelope's  Swains  41 

III  Monsieur  Alcibiade  65 

IV  Gay's  Romance  89 

Crow's  Nest  118 

Una  and  King  David  157 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTEATIONS 

PAGE 

"I  HAVE  Come  to  Claim  my  Dead"  frontispiece 

The  Caelyle  Mansion,  Alexandria  8 

In  the  Hall  Window-seat  44 

In  the  Old  Market  54 

"You  will  Please  hand  Miss  Hunter  in  to 

Supper"  127 


BELHAYEN   TALES 


L'ENVOI 


TNthe  quiet  grass-grown  town 


of  Alexandria,  first  named 
Belhaven,  situated  upon  the 
lower  bank  of  the  Potomac  in 
^-  Virginia,  might  have  been  per- 
ceived, just  before  the  outbreak 
of  the  war  between  the  States, 
a  faint  flavor  of  early  colonial 
days  lingering  like  the  scent  of 
rose-leaves  in  an  old-time  China  jar. 

To  begin  with  the  streets — what  a  Tory  smack  in 
their  names! — King,  Prince,  Duke,  Royal,  Queen,  Prin- 

1 


2  BELHAVEN  TALES 

cess,  Duchess.  Odd  enough  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Mount  Vernon — nay,  under  the  very  shadow,  as  it 
were,  of  the  great  dome  of  the  National  Capitol !  At 
the  time  referred  to,  enjojrment  for  the  greater  part 
of  a  century  of  the  blessings  of  political  enfranchise- 
ment had  not  deprived  some  Alexandrians  of  a  cer- 
tain relish  for  the  affairs  of  the  English  Court.  They 
liked  to  read  the  "  Illustrated  London  News,"  and  to 
obtain  correct  information  about  the  Queen's  walks 
with  the  youthful  Royalties,  and  the  Queen's  drives 
attended  by  Ladies  X,  Y,  and  Z.  Had  they  not  been 
fed  upon  the  traditions  of  an  English  ancestry,  as  upon 
the  toothsome  hams,  the  appetizing  roe-herrings,  of 
their  famous  market-place?  The  Georgian  era  of 
tea-drinking  and  tambour,  of  spangles  and  snuff- 
boxes, of  high  play  and  hair-powder,  represented  to 
them  the  Golden  Age  in  the  fortunes  of  their  families, 
of  which  every  vestige  must  be  guarded  jealously. 
As  children  they  had  stood  on  tiptoe  to  study  the 
lineaments  of  great-grandaunt  Betty,  hanging  in 
her  fly-specked  frame  somewhere  near  the  ceiling, 
and  had  been  eager  to  hear  how  she  had  been  toasted 
at  Mayfair  supper-tables  or  had  danced  the  gavotte 
at  a  Ranelagh  ball.  Yonder  beetle-browed  warrior  in 
a  voluminous  wig  was  a  general  in  Queen  Anne's  time, 
before  he  condescended  to  his  present  station  above 
the  sideboard.  The  beautiful  youth  in  armor,  slender 
and  graceful,  with  the  fiery  eyes,  fought  for  King 
Charles  against  the  Roundheads,  never  dreaming  that 
he  would  come  across  the  seas  to  find  his  niche  in 
a  staid  Virginian  sitting-room  !  In  this  wainscoted 
parlor,  where  the  light  comes  through  small  greenish 


BELHAVEN  TALES  3 

panes  of  glass  half  veiled  with  ivy  branching  from 
stems  knit  in  a  fibrous  mass  upon  the  outer  wall,  had 
great-grandmamma,  dressed  in  her  satin  paduasoy 
{"■  You  may  see  a  piece  of  it  upon  your  Aunt  Prunel- 
la's pincushion,  my  dear!"),  her  hose  with  silver 
clocks,  stood  to  receive  General  Brad  dock,  on  the 
occasion  of  his  first  visit  to  the  town.  On  the  land- 
ing of  yonder  stairway  little  greataunt  Nancy,  the 
shy  member  of  the  family,  while  taking  flight  to 
avoid  a  sudden  arrival  of  guests,  had  come  into 
violent  collision  with  Colonel  Aaron  Burr,  who  met 
her  apologies  with  a  smile  and  a  bow  treasured  in 
the  stronghold  of  her  maiden  heart  through  many 
a  year  to  come. 

In  these  echoing  rooms  had,  from  time  to  time, 
gathered  all  the  celebrities  of  the  day,  coming  to  visit 
the  haunts  of  "Washington  and  to  taste  Virginian 
courtesy.  And  here,  at  a  much  later  date,  upon  the 
occasion  of  his  fourth  visit  to  America,  in  1824,  was 
domiciled  the  gallant  Lafayette.  The  tale  of  a  famous 
reception  tendered  to  that  fortunate  Frenchman  is 
still  told  in  the  town.  Escorted  by  citizens  and  mili- 
tiamen, freemasons  and  Revolutionary  survivors,  the 
''Nation's  Guest"  passed  along  streets  strewn  with 
roses  by  the  children  of  the  place,  beneath  a  trium- 
phal arch  the  like  of  which  in  grandeur  had  never 
been  seen.  At  the  moment  when  the  hero  paused 
beneath  the  arch,  a  "real"  eagle  (politely  furnished 
for  the  occasion  by  the  proprietor  of  a  museum)  was 
seen  to  flap  its  wings,  and  heard  to  utter  a  scream  of 
victory.  This  climax,  it  was  afterward  ascertained, 
was  secured  by  a  boy  who,  at  the  critical  moment, 


4  BELHAVEN  TALES 

stuck  a  pin  in  the  bird  of  liberty.  Bands  played, 
flags  and  handkerchiefs  were  waved,  salutes  were 
fired.  In  the  evening  a  banquet  was  spread  at  Clag- 
ett's  tavern,  followed  by  a  levee.  The  market-place 
and  many  private  houses  were  illuminated.  Nothing 
was  heard  but  honor  to  Lafayette.  The  wave  of 
popular  enthusiasm,  overflowing  to  the  rural  districts 
of  the  interior,  left  inscribed  upon  more  than  one 
baptismal  register  the  name  and  title  of  "Marquis 
de  Lafayette,"  bestowed  in  a  blaze  of  patriotic  fer- 
vor, and  in  all  innocence,  upon  the  latest  arrival 
in  the  family !  At  this  day  "Marcus  D.  Lafayette " 
remains  guilelessly  prefixed  to  not  a  few  Virginian 
patronymics. 

Then  it  was  that  Lafayette,  before  passing  south- 
ward upon  his  pious  pilgrimage  to  the  tomb  of  his 
illustrious  brother  in  arms  at  Mount  Vernon,  offered 
the  toast :  "  The  city  of  Alexandria !  May  her  pros- 
perity and  happiness  more  and  more  realize  the  fond- 
est wishes  of  our  venerated  Washington." 

Even  so  early  in  the  century  the  good  old  town 
seems  to  have  been  overtaken  by  the  spirit  of  drow- 
siness from  which  the  march  of  national  progress  has 
not  yet  aroused  her.  Long  years  ago,  before  the 
coquetry  of  fortune  began  to  push  poor  Alexandria 
to  her  place  among  the  wall-flowers,  she  had  known 
better  days.  Founded  upon  the  site  of  a  trading- 
post  by  the  Washingtons,  the  Fah-faxes,  the  Alexan- 
ders and  other  men  of  note,  many  prophecies  were 
made  as  to  her  future  greatness.  Because  of  her 
natural  position,  her  remarkable  river-front,  her 
dignity  as  one  of  the  leading  municipalities  in  Vir- 


BELHAVEN  TALES  5 

ginia,  her  connection  with  prominent  families,  all 
eyes  were  turned  upon  the  favored  spot.  From 
countries  oversea  many  settlers  were  tempted  to 
cast  in  their  lot  with  the  future  metropolis.  Mer- 
chants of  divers  nationalities  took  up  their  abode  and 
displayed  their  wares  in  her  aristocratic  thorough- 
fares. Every  sign  foretold  that  Alexandria  would 
be  quickly  built  up.  Among  the  settlers  was  a  com- 
pany of  Scotch  traders ;  a  band  of  Jacobite  soldiers, 
scattered  after  the  battle  of  Culloden,  also  became 
her  active  citizens.  Soon  the  wharves  were  crowded 
with  shipping.  Many  a  white-winged  messenger 
sailed  down  the  broad  bosom  of  the  Potomac  to 
carry  the  products  of  bountiful  Virginia  to  the 
mother-land,  fetching,  on  the  return  voyage,  bricks 
with  which  to  construct  the  substantial  mansions  of 
Alexandrian  burghers,  as  well  as  carpets,  porcelain, 
furniture,  carriages  and  wines.  Inspired  by  the  con- 
tinual zeal  and  wisdom  of  George  "Washington,  the 
prosperity  of  Alexandria  did  not  flag  until  the  war 
of  the  Revolution.  Until  Washington,  unwilling  to 
be  thought  influenced  in  such  a  matter  by  his  own 
individual  interest,  selected  the  opposite  bank  of  the 
Potomac  as  the  site  of  the  National  Capital,  the  little 
Virginian  town  had  every  right  to  expect  the  distinc- 
tion for  herself.  With  this  act  of  characteristic  un- 
selfishness on  the  part  of  the  great  Republican,  her 
dream  of  greatness  came  abruptly  to  an  end,  and  at 
Washington's  death  her  mainspring  seemed  to  snap. 
What  growth  there  has  been  since  has  been  like 
growth  in  sleep.  To  visit  Alexandria,  to-day,  is  to 
see  a  wholesome  brake  set  upon  the  rushing  wheels 


6  BELHAVEN   TALES 

of  nineteenth-century  progress.  Around  her  ancient 
homes  and  churches  hangs  a  haze  of  dignified  tra- 
dition. The  cobblestones  of  her  streets  prate  of 
figures  famed  in  history. 

In  the  treasure-house  of  the  Washington  Lodge  of 
Freemasons  may  be  seen  many  carefully  preserved 
relics  of  the  greatest  of  Alexandrians — notably,  the 
clock  taken  from  his  chamber  at  Mount  Vernon,  its 
hands  still  pointing  to  the  hour  when  he  breathed  his 
last.  Here,  also,  are  displayed  portraits  of  Washing- 
ton, of  Jefferson,  of  Lafayette,  and  of  Thomas,  Lord 
Fairfax,  the  recluse  of  Green  way  Court — this  latter 
being  the  only  known  picture  of  a  most  picturesque 
figure  upon  the  canvas  of  early  Virginian  days.  Of 
this  venerable  lodge,  a  chapter  of  exceptional  interest 
to  antiquarians  might  be  separately  written.  Un- 
fortunately, the  museum  attached  to  the  lodge  and 
founded  in  1811  was,  after  sixty  years  of  existence, 
recently  consumed  by  fire.  Among  the  treasures  it 
contained,  then  reduced  to  ashes  or  scattered  to  the 
four  corners  of  our  country,  were  flags  carried  by 
local  companies  in  the  war  of  the  Revolution;  the 
flag  of  Washington's  life-guard;  a  collection  of  In- 
dian relics  of  authenticated  history;  a  number  of 
portraits,  including  one  of  Martha,  wife  of  Washing- 
ton, in  her  girlhood;  sundry  Washington  letters; 
card-tables  and  a  settee  from  Mount  Vernon;  and 
various  objects  of  minor  value.  The  bier  upon  which 
Washington  was  carried  to  his  tomb,  the  crape  that 
hung  upon  the  door  at  Mount  Vernon  to  announce 
his  death,  and  the  military  saddle  habitually  used  by 
the  great  commander,  h)ng  carefully  enshrined  in  the 


BELHAVEN  TALES  7 

museum,  also  disappeared  on  the  occasion  of  tlie  fire, 
but  are  believed  by  the  authorities  to  have  been 
stolen.  Of  the  relics  of  Washington  still  remaining 
in  possession  of  the  lodge,  now  sealed  behind  glass 
in  a  niche  of  the  main  hall,  are  seen  an  apron  and 
sash  "worked  by  the  hands  of  Fairly  Fair'' — the 
Marquise  de  Lafayette — and  worn  by  Washington 
at  the  laying  of  the  southeast  corner-stone  of  the 
United  States  Capitol  in  1793 ;  fragments  of  the  tent 
he  occupied  at  the  time  of  the  surrender  at  York- 
town,  and  of  the  one  he  used  on  Dorchester  Heights ; 
his  field-compass,  farm-spurs  and  bits  of  clothing,  etc. 
Another  landmark  of  old  Alexandria  is  the  house 
on  Fairfax  street,  occupied  for  a  time,  through  the 
courtesy  of  its  owner,  Major  John  Carlyle,  by  the 
British  general  Braddock,  and  since  popularly  known 
as  Braddock's  Headquarters.  This  square  and  sub- 
stantial stone  abode,  where  the  chief  scene  of  the 
"  Belhaven  Tales "  is  placed,  once  surrounded  by  a 
lawn  stretching  to  the  river-bank,  is  full  of  associ- 
ations with  colonial  days.  In  its  panelc\l  drawing- 
room,  early  in  April  of  the  year  1755,  General  Brad- 
dock  and  Admiral  Keppel  held  conference  with  the 
executive  representatives  of  various  colonies  con- 
cerning plans  for  the  proposed  hostilities  of  the  Eng- 
lish against  the  French  and  Indian  allies  along  the 
Ohio  and  St.  Lawrence  rivers.  There  were  present 
five  governors :  *  Dinwiddle  of  Virginia,  De  Lancey 

*  "Alexandria  has  been  honored  with  five  governors  in  con- 
sultation; a  favorable  presage,  I  hope,  not  only  of  the  success 
of  this  expedition,  but  of  the  future  greatness  of  the  town  ;  for 
surely  such  a  meeting  must  have  been  occasioned  by  the  com- 


8  BELHAVEN  TALES 

of  New  York,  Morris  of  Pennsylvania,  Sharpe  of 
Maryland,  Shirley  of  Massachusetts.  To  meet  this 
honorable  council,  and  to  give  them  the  benefit  of 
his  knowledge  of  Indian  warfare,  Major  Washington 
was  summoned  from  Mount  Vernon.  In  spite  of  the 
marked  impression  made  upon  the  council  as  a  body 
by  the  young  soldier's  wise  and  moderate  opinions, 
Braddock  declined  to  act  upon  Washington's  advice 
as  to  the  best  method  of  dealing  with  the  Indians, 
and  the  expedition  against  Fort  Duquesne  (from 
which  Washington  did  not  withhold  his  own  services 
as  an  aid  on  the  staff  of  the  commander),  setting  forth 
within  the  ensuing  week,  ended  shortly  in  the  fierce 
battle  of  Monongahela,  when  Braddock  fell,  to  be 
buried  near  the  field.  It  was  in  this  bloody  conflict, 
it  may  be  recalled,  that  an  Indian  chief,  pointing 
to  Washington,  cried  to  his  braves,  "Fire  at  him  no 
more.  See  ye  not  that  the  Great  Spirit  protects  that 
chief.     He  cannot  die  in  battle  ! " 

The  Carlyle  Mansion,  miscalled  by  various  writers 
the  "Jonathan  Carey  House,"  where  the  disastrous 
campaign  was  planned,  stands  to  this  day,  although 
hemmed  in  and  half  shut  from  sight  by  the  encom- 
passing walls  of  an  hotel.  A  pleasant  picture  has 
been  drawn  of  sundry  occasions  when  Major  and 
Mrs.  Carlyle  received  here  their  good  friends  General 
and  Mrs.  Washington,  who  drove  up  from  Mount 
Vernon  to  "dine  and  lie"  at  Alexandria.  The  writer 
retains,  together  with  a  bit  of  puce  brocade  flowered 

modious  and  pleasant  situation  of  the  place,  which  prognosti- 
cates population,  and  increase  of  a  flourishing  trade." — \_JVash- 
ington's  letter  to  JV.  Fairfax,  23d  April,  1755.] 


.^ \    k^*.jdi^ '  <vC 


THE  CARLYLE  HOUSE,  ALEXANDRIA. 


BELHAVEN  TALES  9 

in  crimson,  green,  and  tarnished  silver,  representing 
the  glories  of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  gown  assumed  for  a 
Bii'thnight  ball,  a  vivid  impression  of  a  scene  pre- 
served in  family  chronicle.  The  group  of  ladies  in 
the  paneled  parlor  gather,  splendid  in  trains  carried 
over  the  arm,  lappets  and  pinners  of  antique  mechlin, 
powdered  locks  and  superincumbent  feathers.  They 
laugh  and  chatter,  rally  the  general  as  to  who  shall 
first  claim  him  as  her  partner  in  the  dance,  and  sip 
their  coffee  from  cups  of  jasper  spode.  The  general 
declares  that  his  dancing  days  are  over,  but  that  he 
must  have  one  minuet  with  little  Sally  Fairfax  of 
Towlston,  who  is  to  go  to  her  first  ball  under  her 
Aunt  Carlyle's  wiug  that  night.  Sally  pirouettes, 
laughs,  warns  her  beloved  general  that  her  comrade 
must  be  light  of  foot  and  tireless,  then  ends  by  chal- 
lenging him  to  a  trial  of  skill.  Somebody  sits  down 
to  the  spinet,  and  straightway  the  quaint  measure  of 
the  old-time  dance  is  heard.  The  general  lays  his 
hand  upon  his  heart  and  bows.  Sally  curtsies  de- 
murely, her  eyes  full  of  merriment.  They  dance;  the 
others  applaud.  Suddenly,  Major  Carlyle  looks  in  to 
tell  them  that  the  hour  has  passed  when  everybody 
was  expecting  the  guest  of  the  occasion  to  make  his 
entry  into  the  baR-room ;  and  the  party  scatters 
hurriedly ! 

All  good  Americans  should  have,  as  all  good  Alex- 
andrians have,  a  warm  sentiment  of  reverence  for 
Old  Christ  Church.  Ivy-clad  and  substantial,  it 
stands,  save  for  the  addition  of  a  bell-tower,  pretty 
much  as  it  was  finished  in  1773,  at  a  cost  of  many 
thousands  of  pounds  of  tobacco  to  the  pious  burgh- 


10  BELHAVEN  TALES 

ers,  under  a  special  contract  guaranteeing  to  them 
the  best  of  English  brick ;  mortar  reversing  the  pro- 
portion of  meaner  modern  days,  two  thirds  of  lime, 
one  third  of  sandj  and  a  roof  of  juniper  shingles 
three  quarters  of  an  inch  in  thickness.  For  so  our 
fathers  builded  better  than  we  know ! 

Among  the  first  pews  of  Christ  Church  sold  in  per- 
petuity, was  that  for  which  George  Washington  paid 
the  highest  price  given.  Thereafter,  this  pew  was 
a  constant  object  of  interest  to  the  congregations 
of  the  place,  as  indeed  it  is  yet,  being  still  care- 
fully preserved  and  inscribed  with  the  name  of  its 
original  owner.  A  treat  to  early  Christ  Church  goers 
was  the  arrival  of  the  family  from  Mount  Vernon, 
sometimes  a  little  delayed  beyond  the  opening  of 
the  service  by  the  tenacity  of  Fairfax  County  mud. 
Seated  near  her  husband  in  the  square,  high-backed 
pew  was  a  gentle  lady,  still  styled  by  the  gossips  of 
the  congregation  "the  widow  Custis  that  was."  That 
same  period,  too,  was  made  memorably  sad  by  the 
death,  at  sixteen,  of  the  pretty,  frail  creature  the 
townspeople  had  been  accustomed  to  see  sitting  on 
the  front  seat  of  the  chariot  from  Mount  Vernon, 
blushing  like  a  rose  in  her  coal-scuttle  bonnet,  and 
like  a  rose,  too,  destined  to  endure  but  the  "  space  of 
a  morning."  Miss  Custis,  Mrs.Washington's  daughter 
of  her  first  marriage,  died  in  June,  1773,  a  short  time 
before  the  marriage  of  her  brother  John  Parke  Custis 
to  Miss  Nellie  Calvert.  When  Washington  attended 
service  at  Christ  Church,  in  the  pews  around  him 
were  gathered  the  Fairfaxes,  Carlyles,  Paynes,  Alex- 
anders,   Herberts,   Muirs,   Flemings,   Ramsays,   and 


BELHAVEN  TALES  11 

others  of  the  gentry  of  the  region.  It  was  the  custom 
of  these  good  neighbors  to  assemble  in  the  church- 
yard, after  service,  to  exchange  greetings ;  and  from 
group  to  group  went  Washington,  shaking  hands  and 
answering  inquiries  till  the  patience  of  his  wife  and 
that  of  the  well-bred  horses  champing  at  their  bits  in 
the  street  adjoining  were  alike  exhausted.  In  this 
quiet  spot  not  a  few  of  the  friends  then  wont  to  as- 
semble have  laid  them  down  to  everlasting  rest,  their 
names  and  virtues  written  upon  gray  slabs  carved 
with  cherub  heads  and  weeping  willows,  now  blurred 
with  lichen  and  dark  with  weather-stains;  and  thither 
have  their  children's  children  come  to  sleep  beside 
them.  In  the  days  when  Christ  Church  was  still  sub- 
ject to  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Bishop  of  London,  the 
vestry  had  civil  power  to  levy  taxes,  to  bind  out 
apprentices,  to  make  surveys,  to  receive  fines  for 
broken  game-laws.  The  rector's  salary  was  paid  in 
tobacco,  although  we  find  recorded  an  award  of  eight 
pounds  (of  money,  not  the  staple  weed)  to  one  Wil- 
liam Shakespeare  for  his  care  of  a  parish  foundling. 
Stories  are  still  told  of  the  two  female  sextons  of  this 
church  —  one  Susanna  Edwards,  and  her  successor, 
Mistress  Cook,  Imagine  a  congregation  of  to-day 
under  the  rule  of  an  awe-inspiring  dame  who  marches 
up  and  down  the  tiled  aisles,  locking  the  pew  doors 
upon  late  arrivals,  supplying  prayer-books  to  the  non- 
devotional,  and  darting  looks  of  ire  upon  hapless 
Eutychus ! 

In  walking  through  the  streets  of  Alexandria,  to- 
day, one  sees  residences  keeping  up  the  traditions  of 
prosperous  hospitality.     Inclosed  within  high-walled 


12  BELHAVEN  TALES 

gardens,  where  the  Southern  sun  coaxes  from  mellow 
soil  jasmines  yellow  and  white,  roses  in  prodigal  vari- 
ety, honeysuckle  and  all  other  sweet-smelling  things, 
the  owners  of  these  homes  dwell  year  after  year,  un- 
ambitious of  change,  gazing  contentedly  from  afar 
upon  that  "  microcosm  on  stilts,  yclept  the  great 
world."  It  is  the  business  quarters  of  the  town  that 
strike  most  forcibly  the  visitor  from  one  of  the  pres- 
ent centers  of  American  commerce.  From  this  old- 
time  seat  of  Virginian  custom,  the  *'  fret  and  fever  of 
speculation"  have  forever  fled.  In  the  line  of  ware- 
houses along  the  wharves,  the  quick  "  pulse  of  gain  " 
has  ceased  to  beat.  The  vessels  l3dng  at  anchor  must 
be  haunted  by  ghostly  crews;  they  give  no  sign  of 
life.  The  steamboat  that  plies  her  way  between 
Washington  and  Alexandria  seems  to  approach  the 
wharf  cautiously,  as  if  fearing  to  awake  a  slumberer. 
Even  the  fishing  industry  —  for  the  beautiful  river 
has  not  ceased  to  yield  her  tribute — appears  to  move 
but  languidly.  All  this  has  its  delightful  aspect;  and 
he  who  would  view  a  lotus-eater  in  his  paradise  should 
watch  an  Alexandrian  darky  dangling  his  legs  over 
the  worn  beams  of  the  dock  under  pretense  of  fish- 
ing,— listening  to  the  lap  of  water  against  the  green 
and  shiny  piles,  and  droning  away  the  livelong  after- 
noon until  the  level  sun,  which  gleams  fiery  red  upon 
the  broken  windows  of  the  warehouse  at  his  back, 
begins  to  stir  in  him  vague  thoughts  of  corn-pone 
browning  on  the  cabin  hearth  at  home. 

Upon  this  background  have  been  sketched  the 
stories  following.  Some  of  the  incidents  recalled  in 
them  will  be  remembered  by  old  Alexandrians.     But 


BELHAVEN   TALES  13 

I  have  preferred  so  to  blend  my  history  with  fiction 
that  of  the  characters  drawn  none  may  be  absolutely 
fitted  to  actual  personages.  A  bundle  of  old  letters, 
depicting  the  social  life  of  Alexandria  "when  the 
century  came  in/'  was  found,  by  a  descendant  of  the 
young  matron  to  whom  they  had  been  addressed,  in 
a  "huswife"  of  faded  silk  in  a  garret  not  long  ago. 
These  I  have  used  in  the  first  of  my  tales  here  follow- 
ing; and  with  the  story  they  tell  I  have,  while  chang- 
ing the  names  and  suppressing  many  details,  but 
retaining  the  general  features,  interwoven  the  love- 
episode  suggested — a  fact  mentioned  here  to  point 
what  historical  value  the  sketches  may  possess  as 
a  contribution  to  the  sociology  of  earlier  Vu'ginian 
days. 
New  York,  May,  1892. 


WHEN  THE  CENTURY  CAME  IN 


From  Mrs.  Ferdinando  Berkeley,  of  Princess  Royal 
street,  Belhaven,  near  Washington,  to  her  married 
daughter,  Mrs.  F.  Faulkland,  of  Mount  Eagle,  near 
Charlestown,  Virginia. 

3rd  February,  1803. 

My  dearest  girl  will,  I  know,  acquit  me  of  inten- 
tional neglect  in  missing  the  last  post.  At  length,  I 
have  an  opportunity  to  sit  down  and  devote  an  even- 
ing to  telling  you  our  news;  and,  by  good  luck,  the 
waggoner  who  is  to  take  the  bundle  of  linen  and 
fustian  I  chose  for  you,  will  leave  Clagett's  Tavern 
to-morrow  morning.  Indeed,  I  could  hardly  rest  last 
night  for  thinking  my  dearest  Peggy  might  worry  a 
little  at  not  hearing  from  home,  which  would  be  bad 
for  her  and  for  my  sweet  precious  new  grandson — 
little  rogue  that  keeps  his  mamma  away  from  us, 
when  her  brother  Billy  is  about  to  present  his  family 
with  a  Bride.  To  think,  my  dear,  that  your  Brother's 
day  is  set,  the  seventh,  next  Tuesday!  Oh!  may  the 
Almighty  shower  his  blessings  on  the  Pair.  We — 
our  entire  household,  except  the  little  ones — are  (if 
we  are  spared)  to  go  over  to  Maryland  to  the  wedding 


BELHAVEN  TALES  15 

— wliiciL  is  all  very  well;  but,  after  a  week's  frolick- 
ing, the  bridal  party  comes  here ;  and  then,  Peggy, 
pity  me.     Such  nice  managers  the  Stuarts  are,  and 

old  Mrs.  S ,  who  will  of  course  accompany  her 

daughter,  famed  far  and  wide  for  her  housekeeping! 
I  shall  be  in  a  terrible  pucker  with  them,  and  no 
Peggy  to  help  me  with  the  whipt  creams  and  drest 
dishes.  Ah !  my  dear,  I  owe  your  goodman  a  grudge 
for  taking  you — the  flower  of  my  flock — away;  but 
there,  I  am  not  in  earnest.  I  never  think  of  your 
match  but  with  gratitude  to  God,  and  love  to  your 
Partner.  One  thing  only  is  wanting  —  were  you  but 
near  me — but  the  thought  then  strikes  me  that  you 
might  have  been  as  far  removed  and  with  an  In- 
different Husband;  this  reflection  hushes  all  my 
present  regret.  I  am  content,  more  than  content,  I 
am  happy — thankfull.  Old  Mrs.  Stuart  is  vaunted 
all  over  her  State  for  her  turtle-soup,  and  I  need  not 
tell  you,  child  —  you  have  seen  your  good  father  pish 
and  pshaw  over  ours  and  push  away  his  plate,  often 
enough  —  poor  Penny  is  not  at  her  best  in  turtle- 
soup.  However,  if  I  have  to  sit  up  all  the  night  be- 
fore, and  make  some  pretext  to  run  out  of  the  room 
just  before  the  dinner  is  announced,  I  will  (if  I  live) 
see  ours  rightly  flavoured  when  old  Mrs.  Stuart 
comes.  Your  sister  Finetta,  for  a  wonder,  has  come 
down  off  her  high  horse  and  offered  to  make  the 
custards  and  jelly-cake.  Little  Jack  says :  "  I  wish 
it  were  sister  Peggy's  jelly-cake,"  and  I  bid  the  child 
run  and  play,  for  if  Finetta  heard  that,  away  would 
fly  all  our  chances  of  a  helping  hand  from  her  ! 
I  almost  wish  I  could  stay  away  from  the  wedding 


16  BELHAVEN  TALES 

and  have  my  mind  at  Ease  for  preparations.  Billy 
makes  a  point  of  my  going,  tho';  and,  with  Lucilla 
and  Finetta  on  the  front  seat  of  the  chariot,  and  Tom 
a-horseback,  we  are  (if  we  are  spared)  to  set  out  on 
Monday  next.  But  here  am  I,  forgetting  to  tell  you 
why  the  affair  is  at  the  last  so  hurried  up.  You  have 
not  forgotten  that  your  future  sister  Juliana  has  en- 
joyed a  fine  name  as  a  flirt,  and  has  been  blowing  hot 
and  cold  on  Billy's  flame  for  many  months,  &  even 
after  she  wore  his  Ring,  wou'd  never  name  the  Day. 
Poor  Billy  was  too  proud  to  let  me  know  his  suff'ring  ; 
but  who  can  deceive  a  mother's  fond  eyes?  I  saw 
him  mope  at  home,  and  then  ride  away  to  Maryland, 
return  more  cheerful,  &  again  fall  into  the  Blues. 
This  was  repeated,  till  I  must  needs  take  a  tuck  in 
the  back  of  his  waistcoats,  every  one,  and  his  coats 
hung  as  if  upon  a  rack.  His  beautiful  hair  went 
rough,  and  his  cheeks  lost  their  roseate  bloom. 
Finetta  gibed  her  brother,  you  may  be  sure,  and 
advised  him  to  give  up  Prince  George's  County,  and 
look  about  him  in  Belhaven  for  a  Fair.  Next  came 
the  rumour,  just  before  Christmas,  that  Miss  Juliana 
Stuart  was  to  wed  with  her  neighbor,  Colonel  Cres- 
pigny,  whom  you  have  heard  of  as  a  great  fortune, 
the  match  of  the  county. 

'Twill  be  never  known  what  a  time  I  had  with  Billy 
then.  Shut  up  in  his  room  staring  at  the  wall,  or  on 
horseback  riding  so  hard  that  he  lamed  the  gray  filly 
which  is  not  yet  cured  (and  a  pretty  scolding  he  got 
from  your  papa,  who,  Finetta  says,  in  his  heart  thinks 
the  filly  worth  two  Miss  Juliana  Stuarts !).  At  last. 
Master  Billy  got  the  invitation  to  spend  Christmas 


BELHAVEN  TALES  17 

week  with  Cousin  Jolin  Thornton  at  Buck  Ridge  near 
Annapolis,  and  fine  doings  they  had.  (I  'd  warrant 
Jack  Thornton,  for  all  his  fifty  years,  to  foot  it  with 
the  youngest  beau  in  the  party !)  Pretty  Miss  Juliana 
being  one  of  the  belles  present,  she  and  Billy  made  it 
up;  and  Billy  now  vows  Colonel  Crespigny  was  never 
more  than  a  well  wisher  to  his  sweetheart,  and  that 
it  was  ridiculous  for  any  one  to  say  otherwise.  (He 
forgets  his  own  jealousy,  my  dear.)  I  must  remark 
to  you,  Peggy,  that  I  did  not  think  the  Stuarts  would 
consent  to  the  speedy  marriage  that  Billy — methinks 
wisely  —  insisted  on.  My  son,  although  as  everybody 
knows  the  handsomest,  sweetest,  dearest  young  fellow, 
the  best  rider  and  dancer  in  the  town,  has  little  be- 
yond a  genteel  competency  and  his  prospects  from 
your  fathei^'s  sister  Ariana,  now  residing  in  the  city  of 
Bath,  England ;  &  Miss  Ariana  Berkeley,  it  is  equally 
well  known,  is  of  a  captious  temper  and  apt  to  take 
fits  of  changing  her  mind  when  least  expected.  Col: 
Crespigny,  on  the  other  hand,  has  a  fine  old  place  and 
manor-house,  and  his  crops  and  negroes  are  prodi- 
giously valuable,  they  say.  Little  Juliana,  who  is  so 
soon  to  be  gathered  to  my  Maternal  arms,  has,  how- 
ever, led  her  parents  quite  a  Dance;  and  perhaps  they 
are  pleased  to  see  her  safely  settled.  Little  puss !  She 
has  written  to  me  a  vastly  pretty  note,  that  makes 
me  forgive  her  coquetting  with  my  Billy.  And  after 
all,  do  we  not  every  day  see  the  greatest  toasts  and 
flirts  around  us  marry  and  make  the  best  of  wives 
to  those  whom  they  have  kept  in  suspense  until  the 
very  Nuptial  Hour!  You,  Peggy,  were  not  of  that 
sort.     Never  shall  I  forget  your  coming  to  me  after 


18  BELHAVEN  TALES 

Mr.  Faulkland  carried  off  the  ring  for  you  at  the  Cul- 
pepper Tournament  and  courted  you  the  same  even- 
ing, saying  "He  is  the  only  man  I  ever  could  have 
chosen  to  be  my  lord  ! "  Finetta  is  so  sharp  with  her 
would-be  suitors,  that  I  doubt  me  she  will  ever  make 
any  selection ;  and  little  Lucilla  is  too  young  to 
talk  about  beaux  and  weddings,  yet  a  while,  thank 
goodness!  I  must  tell  you,  child,  that  Lucilla,  at 
fifteen  turned,  is  beginning  to  improve  mightily,  in 
shape  and  complexion.  Billy  and  Tom  declare  she 
will  beat  Sister  Finetta  hollow,  but  that  none  can 
come  up  to  Sister  Peggy.  If  it  were  not  for  her  un- 
fortunate red  hair,  which  alas !  nothing  can  remedy ! 
I  have  kept  Susan's  Sally  combing  it  for  hours  with 
the  lead  comb;  it  has  been  wash't  in  medicated 
waters;  and  yet  it  remains  the  same — brown  in  the 
shade,  but,  when  the  sun  strikes  it,  as  red  as  the  sor- 
rel's mane.  Cousin  Priscilla  Randolph,  who  has  just 
returned  from  Baltimore,  brought  us  word  that  the 
latest  style  there,  is  to  wear  the  hair  close  and  glossy 
like  a  Sattin  cap.  Those  Ladies  whose  locks  will  not 
yield  to  smoothing  with  the  brush,  oil  and  pomade 
them  freely.  Finetta,  who  always  seeks  the  latest 
mode,  wore  hers  so  to  a  party,  last  week,  and  I  have 
tried  to  persuade  Lucilla  that  this  is  her  chance  to 
hide  the  defects  of  yiature  at  the  wedding.  I  coaxed 
her  into  the  Chamber,  recently;  and  made  her  stand 
still,  while  I  put  onguents  on  her  hair,  and  forced  it 
to  lie  smooth.  At  last  'twas  of  a  rich,  dark  colour 
that  nobody  would  dream  of  calling  by  that  odious 
word  red;  and,  for  once,  I  breathed  free  about  my 
poor  dear's  appearance,  when   in  came   Tom   from 


BELHAVEN  TALES  19 

riding,  and  laugli't  at  her,  and  cried  out,  ''  Little  Lu's 
head  looks  like  the  mahogany  knob  on  your  chest 
of  drawers,  nwther."  Out  ran  Lucilla  in  a  passion, 
wash't  her  hair  in  hartshorn,  &  when  she  came  down 
tossing  her  locks  like  a  Shetland  poney,  I  '11  own  to 
you,  child,  I  gave  her  a  smart  scolding  and  bid  her 
take  her  own  stubborn  way.  When  my  precious 
grandsons  (bless  their  hearts  —  I  keep  little  Urban's 
curl,  till  I  can  get  a  locket  fit  to  put  it  in.  You  will 
find  a  nice  batch  of  horse-cakes  and  sugar-candy  in 
the  bundle  for  him,  with  grandma's  love)  get  big 
enough  to  have  their  own  way,  you  will  understand 
some  of  the  trials  of  a  mother's  lot ! 

Here  I  am  wand'ring  away  from  the  wedding, 
which  is  to  be  a  grand  affair,  the  Stuart  house  full, 
and  every  house  in  the  neighborhood  crowded  with 
guests.  My  Billy  is  in  such  a  state,  I  hardly  think 
he  knows  whether  he  walks  or  flies,  &  Mother  must 
always  be  ready  to  hear  his  raptures.  He  has  given 
Juliana  a  set  of  pearls,  necklace,  brooch  and  spray, 
and  has  bought  the  tiniest  little  ring,  I  protest 
't  would  fit  a  fairy. 

Oh!  Peggy,  what  with  ordering  dainties  and  drill- 
ing the  servants,  and  keeping  your  dear  father  in 
good  humor  about  our  large  expenses,  my  hands 
have  been  full.  Of  course  you  will  want  to  hear  first 
about  our  dresses.  I  have  got  me  a  grave  colored 
Sattin,  nearly  puce,  I  will  enclose  a  scrap  to  let  you 
see  the  colour  —  and  with  the  old  lace,  it  will  have 
to  be  first  day's  and  second  day's  best,  too,  I  reckon, 
for  there  are  Finetta  &  little  Lu  to  fit  out.  Finetta 
has  bought  herself  a  new  White  Lutestring  —  a  lav- 


20  BELHAVEN   TALES 

ender  gauze,  a  cross-barr'd  Blue  Lutestring,  and  two 
new  dimity  frocks  for  morning.  She  has  a  beautiful 
Rideding-dress  near  the  colour  of  your  Great  Coat, 
but  a  Casimer.  She  has  some  notion  of  getting  a 
plain  muslin;  she  has  made  up  her  worked  one 
fashionably,  &  it  is  very  pretty.  The  Ladies  now 
wear  a  Lace  Veil  and  two  Long  White  feathers  in  the 
hair,  the  veil  pinned  up — a  handsome  head  dress,  and 
the  newest;  so  of  course  Finetta  has  one,  besides  a 
wreath  and  bunch  of  flowers,  &  you  see  she  is  smartly 
fixt.  Tom  vext  her  by  saying  she  was  going  to  set 
her  cap  for  Col:  Crespigny,  and  Finetta  bridled  and 
coloured  furiously.  Then  saucy  Tom  said  if  Col.  C. 
knows  what  is  good  for  him  he  will  chuse  little  Lu, 
who  is  so  good  natured  she  will  let  you  pull  her  hair; 
and  I  said  '^  no  more  nonsence  like  that,  Tom.  I  '11  not 
have  Lu  snatched  up  and  carried  off  by  a  husband 
like  Peggy  was,  at  sixteen ! "  Which  I  tell  you,  my  dear, 
repenting  it,  for  if  ever  girl  was  blessed  in  a  kind, 
generous  spouse  't  is  you ;  and  well  may  old  Penny 
say:  ''Husbands  like  Marse  Frank  Faulkland  don't 
grow  on  bushes  by  de  way."  Lu  is  vastly  set  up  with 
two  new  white  muslins  over  blue  and  pink  silk  slips, 
and  a  white  dimity  with  bird's  eye  dots  of  cherry.  I 
wanted  a  new  pelisse  for  her,  but  the  bills  this  year 
will  be  so  large  I  dare  n't  propose  it,  even  to  your 
dear  generous  papa.  You  know  he  has  taken  a  lease 
of  Clairemont  for  Billy  and  his  wife.  Since  old  Mr. 
Mason  died,  the  place  has  been  in  the  market  to  rent. 
Mr.  George  William  Carter,  who  married  Mary  Turber- 
ville,  writ  up  from  Westmoreland  to  have  it  pur- 
chas'd  for  him ;  but  the  executors  would  not  consent. 


BELHAVEN  TALES  21 

and  Mr.  Carter,  'tis  said,  is  too  Ai-istocratic  to  live  on 
rented  laud.  My  poor  Billy,  unless  his  aunt  Ariana 
helps  him,  cannot  be  so  choice.  There  is  a  good 
house,  good  water,  gardens,  ice-house,  stable,  poultry- 
j^ard;  I  doubt  if  Miss  Juliana,  although  she  did  not, 
like  you,  have  the  bar  of  a  town  education,  will  raise 
many  fowls.  Your  papa  kindly  promises  to  do  their 
marketing  for  them,  and  you  know  what  a  fine  hand 
he  is.  They  need  only  send  a  servant  twice  a  week 
to  town,  and  Billy  will  keep  up  the  farm,  which  is 
small  but  in  fair  condition.  I  am  gossiping  on,  my 
Peggy,  as  if  you  were  in  the  Chamber  with  your  little 
mother  chattering  in  your  ear.  I  must  thank  you, 
love,  for  the  pickles,  the  best  I  ever  ate,  and  I  am 
proud  of  your  getting  over  that  trick  of  over-spicing. 
I  could  always  trust  my  Peggy  to  conquer  her  worst 
faults.  Oh!  my  dear,  I  drop  into  bed  this  night 
weary  but  thanking  the  Almighty  for  my  two  chil- 
dren's blest  lots.  If  I  were  to  chuse  through  the  world 
I  'd  have  selected  dear  Mr.  Faulkland,  and  Billy's 
happiness  is  mine.  If  Finetta  could  only  curb  her 
tongue  and  temper  a  little  bit  (I  know  her  heart  is 
right)  I  should  have  nothing  else  to  ask.  Tom  and 
Lu  and  the  little  ones  are  so  well  grown  and  good, 
and  no  woman,  not  even  you,  Peggy,  had  ever  such  a 
Partner  as  mine  is.  Kiss  my  babys  for  me.  Finetta 
will  write  directly  after  The  Event.  God  bless  all  my 
dear  ones,  prays  their  affect'te 

S.  Berkeley. 

P.  S.  Pray  tell  Harriet  from  me  that  her  children 
are  well  and  in  good  places,  and  that  she  may  trust 


22  BELHAVEN  TALES 

me  to  take  care  of  them.  My  servants  have  been  un- 
commonly well  this  winter,  except  old  Dilsey,  and  a 
Doctor  the  old  Avoman  called  on  in  my  absence  at 
your  house,  bled,  blistered  and  salivated  her  so  that 
when  I  returned  she  had  hardly  any  pulse.  I  was 
obliged  to  give  her  a  quantity  of  Madeira  wine,  and 
take  great  care  of  her  &  she  is  now  hearty.  Cousin 
Potts  is  about  to  try  Electricity  for  her  rheumatism, 
having  exhausted  all  other  remedies.  It  frights  me 
to  think  of  such  a  daring  thing.  Do,  my  dear,  keep 
using  the  bark  powder  for  your  teeth — they  were 
always  extreamely  delicate.  Pray  do  not  omit  my 
affect'e  Compts  to  your  husband's  Aunt  GrifiSn,  should 
she  come  to  visit  you,  although,  fortunately,  the  roads 
between  you  are  so  bad.  I  must  not  Cloase  without 
telling  you  that  poor  old  Mrs.  Giddy  died  of  a  Con- 
sumption, and  we  have  Lost  our  neighbor  Mrs.  Jones, 
who  hanged  herself,  while  deranged,  by  tyeiug  a 
handkerchief  to  a  Tester  of  the  Bedstead.  Mrs.  Rose 
has  a  Beautifull  Boy,  and  would  like  the  pattern  of 
your  darling  nurseling's  caps. 


II 

From  Miss  Berkeley,  of  Princess  Royal  street,  Bel- 
haven,  to  her  sister,  Mrs.  F.  Faulkland,  of  Mount 

Eagle. 

23rd  February,  1803. 

Well,  my  dear  Peggy,  as  we  wrote  you,  the  great 
Affair  is  over,  and  I  take  pen  in  hand  to  give  you 
fuller  particulars  of  an  Occasion  where  you  were 
sensibly  mis't,  and  often  reverted  to,  by  Enquiring 


BELHAVEN  TALES  23 

Friends.  The  Stuarts  gave  a  splendid  entertainment, 
all  the  rooms  open  and  drest  with  laurel  and  crow's 
foot  garlands,  wax-candles  by  hundreds,  on  the  sup- 
per-tables a  profusion  of  pine  apples,  oranges,  cocoa- 
nuts  and  other  rare  West  Indian  fruits,  besides  sweets 
&  oysters,  crabs,  salads,  turkeys,  wines  and  punches. 
The  greatest  display  of  Glass  and  Plate  I  ever  beheld, 
(I  wonder  if  any  of  it  was  borrow'd  or  hir'd  for  the 
occasion!)  The  bride  came  down  the  stairs  and  joined 
with  Brother  Billy  at  the  foot,  and  the  bridesmaids 
followed,  among  them  Lu  and  I,  and  walked  in  to  the 
big  saloon  and  stood  before  the  parson  in  a  semi- 
circle. They  call  our  new  sister  a  beauty,  and  beauty 
she  may  be  in  Prince  George's,  but  she  is  not  up  to 
Belhaven  standard,  in  my  opinion !  She  has  a  little 
pale  face,  and  big  dark  eyes,  and  so  much  brown  hair 
it  is  too  heavy  for  her  head.  Billy's  pearl  spray  was 
its  only  ornament,  except  a  camellia  behind  one  ear ; 
and  she  wore  a  plain  square  of  Blond  for  a  veil.  Her 
dress  was  white  Sattin,  of  course — not  as  good  a  qual- 
ity as  3^ours,  my  dear,  if  that  will  comfort  you  —  & 
her  figure  is  like  thread-paper.  We  danced  till  morn- 
ing, Brother  Billy  leading  in  the  reel  with  his  Bride 
—  my  partner,  Colonel  Crespigny,  whom  you  may 
have  heard  of,  a  neighbor  of  the  Stuarts,  and  a 
monstrous  fine  young  man.  He  asked  little  Lu,  to 
dance  a  minuet  with  him,  to  the  child's  great  discom- 
fiture, and  I  fancied  her  head  would  be  quite  turned. 
Next  day,  there  was  a  dinner  for  all  the  gentry  of 
the  neighborhood.  We  sat  down  at  three  o'clock  & 
did  not  rise  till  six;  the  same  profusion ;  &  I  thought 
our  little  mother  would  feel  put  out  of  countenance 


24  BELHAVEN  TALES 

by  Mrs.  Stuart's  table.  But  Lord !  when  you  came 
to  taste  the  calf's  foot  jelly,  it  was  poor  stuff,  I'll 
warrant  you!  And  the  Blanc  Mange  eggs  in  the  hen's 
nest  hardly  seasoned,  &  half  melted  !  The  bride's- 
cake  was  fine  to  look  at,  iced  by  the  Confectioner  in 
Washington  with  a  sugar  Cupid  in  a  Cage  on  top, 
and  a  sugar  couple  standing  before  Hymen's  altar, 
under  it.  I  took  a  bit  to  sleep  on  (they  teased  me 
next  day  to  know  if  I  dreamed  of  any  Colonel,  but  of 
course  that  's  nonsense,  child) ;  and  I  broke  off  a 
crumb  or  two  to  see  what  Prince  George's  could  do 
in  the  way  of  black  cake.  Bless  me,  Peggy,  it  was 
not  a  patch  on  yours !  The  icing  had  no  orange-fioiver 
water  in  it  —  no  blanched- almonds  —  conceive  of  such 
a  thing !  And  this  they  call  the  model  hotiseJceeping  of 
Maryland ! 

Juliana's  second  day's  dress  was  pinkish  lavender 
brocade  with  pigeon  bertha  and  ruffles  of  white  silk 
muslin.  I  wore  my  cross-barred  lustring,  and  Lu 
wore  her  other  muslin.  Papa,  who,  all  the  way  driv- 
ing over  in  the  chariot,  had  fretted,  vowing  and  pro- 
testing he  would  leave  for  home  the  next  morning 
after  the  wedding  early,  as  he  could  not  abide  jun- 
keting among  a  lot  of  idle  people,  jok'd  and  told 
stories,  touch'd  glasses  with  all  the  gentlemen,  & 
was  the  life  of  the  party.  Between  ourselves  and  the 
Church  clock,  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  get  home  !  You 
won't  believe  it,  Peggy,  our  papa  danced  the  reel  with 
fat  Mrs.  Stuart,  and  cut  the  pigeon  wing  —  yes!  and 
a  lively  one.     He  skipped  into  the  air  ! 

Thursday,  our  Papa  and  Mama  returned  to  Bel- 
haven,  but  I  was  prevaiPd  on  to  stay,  and  they  kept 


BELHAVEN  TALES  25 

little  Lu  because,  forsooth,  I  suppose  they  feared  me 
being  homesick.  Col:  Crespigny  brought  his  horses 
for  me  to  ride ;  &  on  Friday  gave  us  a  dining  at  his 
Mansion  which  is  truly  elegant.  He  is  a  tall  dark 
man,  a  little  reserved  in  manner,  a  bachelor  of  two- 
and-thirty.  Any  one  can  see  'twas  merest  folly  to 
talk  of  his  caring  for  Billy's  Juliana.  Well,  my  dear, 
to  make  a  long  story  short,  we  stayed  out  the  week, 
and  then  bride  and  groom  and  wedding  party  came 
over  to  Belhaven,  our  chariot  sent  again  for  us,  tl^e 
rest  riding  or  driving  as  they  fancied.  Col.  Cres- 
pigny would  have  little  Lu  and  me  mounted  on  his 
horses,  while  some  of  the  elders  took  our  places  in  the 
chariot.  It  was  clear,  mild  weather,  a  touch  of  Spring 
in  the  air,  and  our  ride  delightful.  (You  must  know 
the  Colonel,  Peggy.  He  is  about  Mr.  Faulkland's 
hight  and  build,  but  less  gay  and  off-hand  than  your 
spouse.)  Now,  for  the  celebrations  of  the  week.  The 
town  is  very  gay,  and  I  tell  you  we  have  no  cause  to 
blush  for  Belhaven  entertainments.  A  party  every 
night,  abundance  of  costly  viands,  Mrs.  Swann's  sup- 
per being  set  forth  on  a  new  service  of  glass  that  cost 
her  three  hundred  dollars  in  Philadelphia ;  and  Mrs. 
Tyler's  old  English  plate  all  on  her  table  at  once. 
Oh !  my  dear,  such  an  odd  affair.  Miss  Kitt}^  Dick- 
son's wedding,  of  which  so  much  has  been  said  —  the 
town  is  in  a  Hubbub  over  it.  A  Thursday  was  the 
day  set,  hut  the  hridegroom  did  not  cotne  !  The  cakes 
were  made,  the  supper  drest ;  everything  ready  but 
the  Gent'n,  a  very  important  part  of  it,  at  Miss  Kittifs 
age,  especially.  You  may  guess  the  gossip  this  occa- 
sioned.    Such  ridicule  —  such  triumph  in  the  Mali- 


26  BELHAVEN  TALES 

cious !  Though  that  family  are  not  my  first  favourites, 
it  put  me  out  of  conceit  with  Human  Nature.  The 
bridegroom,  Mr.  Pearse,  neither  came  nor  sent  word, 
and  for  days  the  Dieksons  were  in  the  uttermost  per- 
plexity. At  last,  on  the  folloiving  Thursday,  he  came, 
and  with  him  his  Sisters.  It  seems  they  mistook  the 
day!  And  now,  everybody  flocks  again  to  the  house 
and  the  nuptials  take  place  duly,  Miss  Kitty  in — 1st 
day — White  Sattin  &  crape;  2nd.  day — White  Lute- 
string and  muslin.  At  the  1st  day's  entertainment 
a  prodigious  company  of  married  gents  &  Ladies. 
2nd.  day,  all  the  young  genteel  people  in  the  town. 
Both  suppers  were  superb  —  pyramids  three  hands 
high,  and  everything  renewed  for  the  second  supper. 
Mr.  Pearse,  about  whom  the  Dieksons  had  so  much 
pother,  is,  now  they  have  got  him,  homely  enough  to 
scare  the  crows  in  his  own  cornfields.  Rumor  hath 
it  that  your  old  friend  Louisa  Beck  with  is  to  marry 
Johnny  Boyd,  the  little  broken-backed  man;  there  is 
no  doubt  husbands  are  scarce  when  little  Johnny 
gets  picked  up.  Almost  every  family  of  our  ac- 
quaintance has  called  upon  Mrs.  Billy,  and  we  have 
had  four  large  dinner  companies  for  them,  and  even- 
ing entertainments  too,  &  they  have  been  much  in- 
vited out.  Mama  is  on  her  feet  greatly,  but  keeps  in 
good  health,  and  old  Penny  has  done  wonders  in  the 
cooking.  Brother  Tom  was  a  subscriber  to  this 
year's  Birth-night  Ball,  and  he  came  off  with  great 
applause,  every  one  seem'd  pleased  with  his  Gayety 
and  Candour,  though  he  speaks  his  mind  so  freely. 
Little  Lu  has  contrived  to  see  a  good  deal  of  the 
goings-on,  spite  of  our  intentions  to  keep  her  in.  I 
confess  the  girl  is  much  improved  in  looks.    Peggy, 


BELHAVEN   TALES  27 

don't  you — Honour  bright  —  child,  never  feel  that 
you  'd  give  your  ears  to  be  back  in  all  our  gayeties, 
instead  of  away  off  there  mewed  up  with  your  hus- 
band and  Babys  in  the  country  1  You  that  was 
lately  so  full  of  life  and  animation?  Ah!  well,  child, 
perhaps  you  're  right  —  (for  I  can  hear  you  answer 
'^iVo") —  Methinks  I  can  sometimes  understand  it — 
But  enough  of  this  —  I  have  promised  Col.  Cres- 
pigny  to  ride  with  him  tomorrow  to  Washington  to 
call  on  Mrs.  Law.  She  is  in  the  midst  of  the  fash- 
ionable whirl,  and  I  have  seen  her  little.  That  city 
was  never  so  gay  since  the  Government  was  fixt 
there,  but,  for  reasons  you  know  of,  we  prefer  Bel- 
haven  society.  Our  Papa,  spite  of  his  kinship  with 
the  President,  hath  so  strong  a  dislike  to  what  he 
calls  Mr.  Jefferson's  scandalous  low  notions  about 
putting  us  all  on  a  par  with  the  lower  classes,  he  will 
not  hear  of  our  waiting  on  the  Ladies  at  The  Palace. 
He  and  the  other  Federalists  in  town  still  feel  deeply 
the  slight  put  upon  the  British  Ambassador's  lady  at 
the  banquet  in  December,  when  the  Presid'nt  gave 
his  right  and  left  to  Mrs.  Madison  and  Mme.  Yrujo, 
and  forsook  Mistress  Merry  to  shift  for  herself !  No- 
thing is  heard  discust  in  Washington,  but  the  ques- 
tion of  this  or  that  official  lady's  precedence,  and  the 
turmoil  is  fatiguing  to  us  who  hiow  our  places,  and 
fret  not  at  Imaginarij  Slights. 

Oh,  my  dear!  Col.  Crespigny  is  a  Republican,  the 
friend  and  Crony  of  Mr.  Madison,  the  Secretary  of 
State,  and  also  of  Genl.  Smith,  and  M.  Jerome  Bona- 
parte, whose  young  wife,  late  the  beautiful  Miss 
Patterson  of  Baltimore,  is  producing  such  a  sensa- 
tion, politically  and  otherwise,  in  Court  circles  this 


28  BELHAVEN   TALES 

season.  Imagine  my  fear  lest  the  subject  of  Politics 
should  come  up  at  our  Board  when  Papa  might  not 
be  in  a  mood  to  keep  the  Peace.  Tho'  the  Col.  is 
most  kind  and  considerate,  he  can  not  know,  nor  can 
we  always  warn  him,  that  certain  questions  of  States- 
manship are  to  our  Parent  like  a  red  Rag  to  the  Bull. 
I  gave  him  a  hint  of  this  in  telling  him  that  our 
Papa's  Sister  Ariana  had  removed  to  take  up  her 
abode  in  England  because  of  her  objection  to  the 
"filthy  Democrats,"  as  she  is  pleased  to  style  certain 
of  our  President's  supporters,  and  he  laught  saying 
the  Ladies  were  ever  virulent  in  Party  warfare,  though 
not  always  certain  as  to  their  Premises. 

And  now,  my  child,  Adieu.  If  I  have  succeeded  in 
amusing  you  by  my  talk,  I  shall  not  regret  the  time 
thus  spent.  We  have  twenty  people  to  sup  here  to- 
night, and  the  card-tables  out  afterwards.  Our  papa's 
friend,  the  good  Chief-Justice  Marshall,  hath  prom- 
ised to  ride  down  from  Washington  and  lie  in  Prin- 
cess Royal  Street.  I  must  hasten  to  assist  mama, 
who  with  the  family,  including  our  new  sister,  desires 
to  be  warmly  remembered  to  Mr.  Faulkland  and 
yourself.     I  remain  your  Ever  Attach'd 

FiNETTA  Berkeley. 

P.  S.  Do  not  think  I  mean  anything  by  my  talk 
about  the  Colonel.  And  pray,  for  Mercy's  sake,  don't 
let  Mr.  Faulkland  see  this  scrawl.  Mama  desires  me 
to  add  that,  should  little  Urban  catch  the  Mumps 
(which,  she  says,  may  Heaven  forfend),  she  hath  a 
wonderful  new  remedy  of  Dr.  Dick's.  Do  not  cut 
your  short  gown  by  the  pattern  yon  took  away,  I 
have  a  newer  fash'n'd  one  for  you.    Little  Lu  hath 


BELHAVEN  TALES  29 

just  run  in  to  show  me  a  nosegay  of  Cape  jasmines 
and  geranium  leaves  that  Col.  Crespigny  hath  fetched 
her  from  his  glass-houses.  You  will  say  perchance 
that  he  is  most  anxious  to  please  even  this  little  one, 
but  indeed,  it  is  all  in  the  fancy  of  the  Gossips  from 
whom  our  Society  is  not  altogether  Free. 


HI 

From  Miss  Lucilla  Berkeley,  of  Princess  Royal 
Street,  to  Mrs.  F.  Faulkland,  at  Mount  Eagle. 

6th  March,  1803. 
Dear  Sister  Peggy:  I  have  been  crying  my  eyes 
out,  so  that  I  can  scarce  see  to  dip  my  quill  into  the 
ink-pot;  and  yet  I  must  write  you,  this  post,  because 
even  our  dearest  little  mama  is  not  let  into  my  room 
till  I  give  up,  and  Susan's  Sally  has  promised  to  get 
this  letter  to  you  someway,  and  oh!  my  Hart  aches 
for  you.  Sister  Peggy.  Cou'd  you  but  sit  beside  me 
on  the  sopha,  and  let  me  rest  my  head  upon  your 
breast,  and  tell  you  all,  it  would  ease  my  pain  I  think. 
But,  you  will  be  wond'ring  what  has  happen'd,  unless 
(which  is  not  likely)  Mama  has  writ  to  you  ere  this. 
How  shall  I  tell  you.  Sister,  that  I,  your  little  Lu,  the 
tomboy,  the  Red  Headed  Woodpecker  as  Bro.  Tom 
calls  me,  have  got  a  Suitor — a  grand  gentleman  who 
has  the  ill-luck  to  displease  our  Papa  in  Pollyticks. 
(Mama  says  I  am  not  careful  in  my  Spelling,  &  I  tried 
that  word  two  ways  but  it  does  not  yet  seem  right.) 
Ever  since  Bro.  Billy's  and  Sis.  Juliana's  Wedding,  I 
have  known  that  the  great  Colonel  Crespigny,  who 
I  danced  with  in  the  minuet,  has  been  coming  over 


30  BELHAVEN  TALES 

here  to  Belhaven  to  see  poor  little  Me,  for  he  told  me 
so,  &  I  dar'd  not  tell  Sister  Finetta  nor  yet  Mama, 
for  I  fear'd  their  laughter.  He  is  so  big  and  kind. 
Sister,  and  his  dark  eyes  made  my  Hart  go  pit-a-pat, 
and  it  seem'd  so  great  a  thing  to  have  a  Suitor  —  and 
such  an  one  —  before  I  was  sixteen,  that  I  kept  the 
secret  close.  One  day,  when  I  met  him  on  the  Stairs, 
and  he  whisper'd  something  in  my  ear,  I  went  straight- 
way to  the  old  nursery,  and  put  away  my  London  doll 
Aunt  Ariana  sent  me  (and  which  I  nurst  and  drest 
only  a  sennight  since)  till  Baby  Pen  can  be  trusted  to 
handle  it.  A  week  later,  he  came  again,  and  when  we 
went  from  the  Blue  Parlour  in  to  tea  he  slipped  (in 
passing)  a  bit  of  paper  in  my  hand.  That  paper  burnt 
a  hole  in  my  pocket,  Sister,  till  I  got  a  chance  to  light 
my  bed-room  candle,  and  read  it  when  I  went  up- 
stairs. I  will  write  out  what  it  said,  for  I  learned  it 
by  Hart,  although  Papa  has  sent  it  back  to  him. 

SONNET,   TO  ALMIRA. 

The  wand'ring  exile  on  a  foreign  shore 
By  adverse  fortune  destin'd  to  remain, 
Each  long  lost  pleasure  fondly  traces  o'er, 
And  sighs  to  tread  his  native  soil  again. 

So  I,  when  banish'd  from  Almira's  smiles, 

Nor  erouded  scenes,  nor  silent  shades  can  please ; 
Fond  Hope  alone  the  tedious  day  beguiles, 
Fond  Hope  alone,  my  drooping  heart  can  ease. 

Oft  when  I  seek  the  solitary  gi-ove 

Imagination  holds  her  to  my  sight; 

Or  thro'  the  meadows  pensive  as  I  rove 

When  dark'ning  shades  proclaim  the  approach  of  night, 
In  fancy  still,  I  gaze  upon  her  chai-ms, 
And  long  with  soft  desire  to  clasp  her  in  my  Arms. 


BELHAVEN   TALES  31 

There,  Sister,  wou'd  you  ever  believe  that  I  am 
"  Alraira  "  ?  'T  is  so  beautifully  writ  no  copper  plate 
cou'd  be  finer;  and  where  he  tells  how  he  seeks  ''the 
solitary  grove,"  it  makes  me  want  to  weep  for  sym- 
pathy. But  oh !  I  am  not  telling  you  the  worst  &  at 
any  moment  I  may  be  told  to  snuff  my  candle  out. 
The  last  time  the  Col.  drank  tea  with  our  parents,  it 
appears  he  had  the  ill-fortune  to  engage  in  an  argu- 
ment. Playful  on  his  side.  Heated  on  our  Papa's, 
about  the  Position  (Sister  Finetta  said)  of  the  Presi- 
dent towards  England.  He  took  the  President's  part; 
Papa  waxed  more  and  more  scornful,  shooting  his 
usual  arrows  of  disdain  at  our  Cousin  Jeffn's  habit 
of  dress,  his  slippers  without  heels,  his  ill-fit  Cloathes, 
his  homely  ways;  Col.  C.  defending  the  Pdt.  This 
went  on,  till  our  Papa  flew  into  one  of  his  rages  Wee 
all  know,  and  do  not  mind  because  they  so  soon  Blow 
By.  Mama  and  Sister  Finetta  interposed,  and  led 
Col.  C.  into  another  room,  to  hear  Sister  play  upon 
the  harpsichord,  but  Papa  has  never  forgot,  nor  for- 
giv'n  the  Incident  and  its  Cause.  Yesterday — ah! 
Sister,  as  I  come  to  this,  my  tears  brake  out  afresh  — 
My  suitor  came,  arrived  at  the  house  &  (so  Mama 
says)  made  a  formal  offer  for  my  hand  !  Papa,  most 
polite  and  cold  (you  know  how  he  can  be,  his  wig 
pushed  a  little  crooked,  his  lips  curling,  his  eyes  like 
blue  steel),  refused,  without  a  moment's  delay,  and  in 
language  so  couched  that  Col,  C,  as  a  gentleman, 
could  but  bow  (though  very  pale,  poor  dear)  &  get 
again  upon  his  horse  the  groom  was  holding  in  the 
street,  &  ride  clattering  away.  I  saw  him  from  the 
upstairs  hall-window-seat  (where  I  sat  darning  Papa's 
silk  hose),  and  tho'  I  did  not  know  the  reason,  my 


32  BELHAVEN  TALES 

Hart  misgave  me  all  was  over.  Then  Papa  sent  for 
all  the  family  —  the  elders  I  mean  —  in  the  chocolate- 
panelled  Study  where  his  hooks  stay,  &  told  me  I 
must  never  think  or  speak  of  Col.  Crespigny  again. 
Then  I  burst  into  loud  crying  and  flung  myself  in 
Mama's  arms,  who  was  trembling  there,  looking  with 
her  pitiful  kind  eyes  at  Papa,  and  I  vowed  I  would 
love  the  Col.  and  none  other,  till  I  die.  At  which, 
our  father  rose,  and  ordered  me  to  keep  my  bed-room 
till  I  knew  myself  for  a  headstrong  impertinent  little 
Baggage,  &  was  ready  to  ask  his  pardon  and  promise 
what  he  required.  Next,  a  strange  thing  happened. 
Sister,  that  I  cannot  understand.  Sister  Finetta, 
whose  face  I  chanced  to  see  grow  red,  then  pale  and 
stern,  stept  out  from  the  rest,  and  put  her  arm 
around  my  waist.  She  that  never  caresses  anyone ! 
She  led  me  away  up  to  my  room,  and  kissed  me  in 
silence  ere  she  shut  the  door.  Next,  Mama  came  in 
and,  crying,  told  me  it  was  all  a  sad  business,  sadder 
than  I  knew.  That  she  too  (altho'  not  for  my  father's 
reasons)  counsel'd  me  to  give  Col.  Crespigny  up. 
That,  until  I  promised,  she  must  leave  me  to  myself 
—  and  then  she  kissed  me  like  the  Angle  that  she  is, 
and  went  out  and  lock't  the  door.  Without  supper 
(wh.  I  could  not  eat),  I  cried  myself  to  sleep.  To- 
day I  ate  a  mouthful  of  the  breakfast  brought  me 
by  Susan's  Sally;  and  since,  I  am  writing  this  to  you, 
that  I  begun  last  night  and  writ  till  cautioned  by 
.Papa's  voice  outside  my  door,  to  go  to  bed.  Sister 
Peggy,  you  will  (I  know  you,  I  can  hear  your  gentle 
questions  that  always  made  us  confess  everything) 
inquire  if  I  am  sure  of  my  own  feelings  for  Col.  Cres- 


BELHAVEN   TALES  33 

pigny,  I  that  was  a  child  when  you  saw  me  last.  In 
answer,  I  say,  "  ask  Yourself  what  if  they  had  wanted 
you  to  give  up  your  Francis  after  that  night  he 
Courted  you  % "  Yes,  I  do  love  him,  I  shall  always 
love  him  and  honour  him  before  all  men.  I  would 
follow  him  to  the  Land's  End,  I  think.  And — there 's 
some  one  coming  up  the  stairs  —  oh  !  write  to  them. 
Sister,  you  that  can  move  papa  if  any  one.  The  per- 
son—  'twas  a  servant  asking  if  I  would  have  refresh- 
ment (I  know  the  little  Mother  sent  up  those  iced 
maids-of -honour  of  which  I  usually  ask  for  three,  but 
I  cannot  swallow  now)  —  has  gone,  and  I  resume.  A 
little  while  ago  I  took  down  from  the  shelf  the  sweet 
Annual,  bound  in  pink-and-gold — "Affection's  Offer- 
ing"—  that  you  used  to  read  in  Company  with  Mr. 
Faulkland  during  your  betrothal.  Strange,  passing 
strange,  that  it  should  have  opened  at  these  lines ! 


With  plaintive  courage,  lo!  the  turtle  dove 

Laments  the  fate  of  his  departed  love. 

His  mate  once  lost,  no  comfort  now  he  knows, 

His  little  breast  with  inward  anguish  glows, 

Nor  lawns  nor  groves  his  throbbing  heart  can  charm 

Nor  other  love  his  languid  bosom  warm ; 

Oppressed  with  grief,  he  yields  his  latest  breath 

And  proves  at  last  his  constancy  in  death ; 

A  proper  lesson  to  the  fickle  mind, 

An  emblem  apt  of  tenderness  refined, 

Affection  pure  and  undissembled  love. 

Which  absence,  time,  nor  death  can  e'er  remove. 

Then  like  the  dove  let  constancy  and  truth 

And  spotless  innocence  adorn  your  youth ; 

In  every  state  the  same  blest  temper  prove, 

Be  fixt  in  friendship  and  be  true  to  love ! 


34  BELHAVEN  TALES 

Sister,  as  I  write  these  words,  so  applicable  to  my 
condition,  my  tears  refuse  to  be  staunched — Oh! 
Sister,  what  shall  I  do — pity  me,  help  me.  Could 
you  but  come — but  what  do  I  ask,  considering  the 
Distance,  the  State  of  the  Roads,  your  Young  In- 
fants, etc.  No,  I  must  be  Brave.  Write  then,  and  I 
await  your  Counsel — but  remember,  I  cannot  resign 
my  noble — my  manly  C.  Do  you  think,  perchance, 
he  could  be  induced  to  become  a  Federalist — In  truth 
I  cannot  see  the  difference  between  them  and  the 
Others  Papa  chuses  to  despise. 

Yr.  ever  loving  and  afflict'd. 

L.  Berkeley. 

P.  S.  I  believe  I  could  promise  that  he  would 
make  no  further  allusion  to  the  Presid'nt,  or  to 
England. 

I  broke  off  here,  to  receive  a  visit  from  my  dear 
and  honoured  Mama,  who  came  at  the  wish  of  my 
Papa — he  having  slept  well  and  re-considered  his 
Action  of  last  night.  Oh !  dear  Sister,  you  would 
never  believe  what  our  parent  has  convey'd  to  me. 
I  dare  not  commit  it  to  paper  lest  the  Curious  shou'd 
chance  to  read  it — let  Peggy  who  knows  us  all, 
divine — but  I  am  now  convinc'd  that  in  fixing  my 
affect'ns  on  Col.  C,  I  am  wronging  Another — one 
innocent  of  Intention,  a  Victim  of  Circumstance.  As 
by  a  Lightning-Flash,  I  saw  what  my  self-willed 
determination  to  have  my  own  way  in  this  matter 
would  entail.  Immediately,  I  sought  out  my  Papa, 
who  was  sitting,  as   Before,  in  the  little  chocolate 


BELHAVEN   TALES  35 

room,  reading  a  Journal  which  I  observed  to  be 
Upside  Down,  while  his  hand  shook,  &  his  eye  when 
he  turn'd  it  upon  me  was  velvet  soft  and  loving.  Our 
blessed  mother  went  up  to  him,  and  with  an  arm 
around  his  neck,  placed  my  hand  in  his.  ''  Our  child 
is  worthy  of  herself,  husband,"  she  said  in  the  sweet 
voice  that  sounds  ever  like  a  flute.  "  She  hath  prom- 
ised to  renounce  what  will  cause  more  unhappiness 
to  others  than  it  can,  now,  bring  happiness  to  her." 
Oh !  Sister,  when  our  parents  gathered  me  into  their 
Embrace,  I  felt  like  the  Lamb  that  has  been  Lost  and 
Found  again  —  I  can  not  now  write  more!  Forget 
what  I  have  said  that  was  foolish  or  headstrong. 
Love  me  always,  and  believe  that  I  will  be  true  to  my 
promise  to  Papa,  and  only  you  shall  know  what  it 
Costs  me  to  submit. 

Your  L. 

IV 

From  Ferdinando  Berkeley,  Esquire,  of  Princess 
Royal  Street,  Belhaven,  to  his  daughter,  Mrs. 
Faulkland,  at  Mt.  Eagle. 

11th  October,  1803. 
My  Dear  :  I  shall  send  this  under  cover  to  your 
good  husband  that  he  may  consult  his  Judgement 
about  delivering  it  to  you  or  No.  I  conceive  that 
the  tenderness  of  the  female  nature,  nay  my  Peggy's 
nature  in  especial,  will  make  as  severe  to  endure 
what  I  have  to  communicate,  as  't  is  cruel  to  me  to 
write  it.  My  child,  the  Almighty  hath  laid  a  heavy 
hand  upon  our  once  happy  household.     The  news- 


36  BELHAVEN  TALES 

papers  will  have  informed  you  of  the  pestilential 
fever  that  has  mysteriously  appeared  in  Belhaven. 
As  I  was  in  the  act  of  preparing  to  send  my  family  to 
the  country,  I  meant  to  forbear  writing  to  you  until 
they  were  safely  away.  But  God's  will  be  done  — 
your  dear  mother  is  laid  low  with  the  pestilence,  and 
2  of  the  servants,  as  well  as  your  brother  Tom.  The 
children,  I  have  sent  out  to  my  son  William's  seat, 
Clairemont,  where  Juliana  will  take  faithful  care  of 
them.  Finetta  alone  remains  in  town,  for  Lucilla, 
although  most  unwilling  to  be  parted  from  her  mo- 
ther, has  also  gone,  by  my  express  command.  Fi- 
netta, at  ordinary  times  so  difficult  to  controul,  has 
now,  I  am  pleased  to  say,  developed  a  spirit  of  help- 
fulness and  courage  that  makes  her  Invaluable  to 
her  poor  mother.  There  is  so  much  misery  attend- 
ing this  dreadful  Calamity  in  the  town,  that  while 
my  dear  ones  continue  to  hold  their  own,  I  will  not 
repine  against  the  decree  that  has  smitten  us.  My 
Dr.  Girl  may  Join  her  prayers  with  ours  for  the 
preservation  of  our  sufferers.  I  can  write  no  more 
at  present.  My  Compl'm'ts  to  your  Spouse.  Lucilla 
will  keep  you  inf  orm'd,  or  William  or  Juliana,  as  the 
malady  progresses. 

From,  my  dr.  Margaret,  your  loving  and  anxious 
Father, 

F.  Berkeley. 

Pray  inform  your  faithful  Harriet  that  her  chil- 
dren are  well. 


BELHAVEN  TALES  37 


From  Miss  Lucilla  Berkeley,  at  Clairemont,  to 
Mrs,  Faulkland,  at  Mount  Eagle. 

18th  October,  1803. 

God  be  praised,  Peggy  dearest,  that  our  little 
Mother  is  said  to  be  on  the  mend.  Tom  has  been 
very  Low,  but  he  and  our  Mama  owe  their  lives 
under  God  to  Sister  Fiuetta's  care.  Oh !  that  I  were 
suffered  to  be  with  them,  to  be  of  service.  I,  whose 
poor  life,  clouded  by  disappointment,  is  of  so  little 
use  to  anyone.  While  our  family  is  passing  from 
under  the  pillar  of  cloud,  people  have  dyed  all  around 
our  house.  The  burials  are  frequent,  the  streets 
deserted.  Marks  of  distress  and  depopulation  on 
every  side.  If  't  wou'd  please  God  to  send  a  heavy 
rain  and  severe  frost  after  it,  perhaps  it  might  be 
checkt.  What  a  mellancholy  situation  is  our  poor 
friend  Mrs.  Cracroft's ;  she  has  lost,  poor  Lady,  both 
her  Husband  and  her  Daughter,  Miss  Betsey.  What 
will  be  the  end!  Our  hopes  give  way  to  Apprehen- 
sions, and  yet  Mama  is  better,  and  Tom  is  out  of 
danger,  and  the  two  maids  are  improving.  Thank 
you,  Sweet  Sister,  for  the  last  letter  about  my  own 
affairs,  that  seem  little  now,  beside  this  great  Public 
calamity.  I  have  bowed  to  my  Earthly  Father's,  as 
to  my  Heavenly  Father's  will,  but  lie  wJiom  you 
Mow  of  (so  Juliana  has  heard  from  Maryland)  has 
not  ceased  to  hope  that  affairs  may  change  in  his 
Favour.  Ah !  what  a  selfish  girl  am  I,  to  write  of 
this  now.     Forgive  me.  Sister  dear.     Write  to  me 


38  BELHAVEN  TALES 

again.  Brother  Billy  and  Juliana  and  our  children 
are  well  as  can  be.  Tell  Harriet  hers  are  well,  and 
I  am  your  affectnte. 

LUCILLA. 

I  open  this  to  say  a  messenger  has  come  from 
town.  Bad  news,  alas !  Sister  Finetta,  the  Brave 
and  strong,  has  been  stricken  down.  I  will  keep  the 
letter  open  till  tomorrow  to  tell  you  what  betides. 

Tuesday  morng. 

Sister  Finetta  very  ill,  our  mother  still  mending. 
Tom,  poor  brother,  has  a  relapse. 

I  must  Cloase  to  catch  the  post.  The  Doctor  says 
Sister  F.  has  it  in  a  worse  form  than  any  of  the  rest. 
God  pity  us  all ! 

L. 


VI 

From  Mrs.  William  Berkeley,  of  Clairemont,  near 
Belhaven,  to  Mrs.  Faulkland,  Mt.  Eagle. 

25th  October,  1803. 
My  dear  Sister  Margaret  will  comprehend  when  I 
tell  her  that  I  feel  my  inadequacy  to  fitly  represent 
the  cherished  members  of  her  family  whose  place 
I  assume  to  take  in  Writing  this.  My  own  Mr. 
Berkeley  hath  gone  for  a  ride  upon  his  bay  mare 
to  get  rid  (so  he  says)  of  the  blue  devils  in  his  brain. 
He  began  a  letter  to  you.     But  his  fingers  were  all 


BELHAVEN  TALES  39 

thumbs,  and  he  gave  up  the  task.  Never  have  I  seen 
his  cheerful  Countenance  so  overspread  with  gloom 
as  since  rendering  the  last  sad  offices  to  his  departed 
brother  Tom.  That  amiable  and  estimable  youth 
will  indeed  be  deeply  mourned.  We  can  but  trust 
that  he  is  now  happy  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  ever- 
lasting felicity  of  Heaven.  Your  Beloved  Mother, 
spite  of  her  trials,  continues  to  improve.  And,  God 
be  praised,  Sister  Finetta  yesterday  (it  is  hoped) 
passed  the  turning-point  of  her  malady,  and  will  now 
recover.  Beneath  these  encircling  Clouds  of  Gloom 
it  is  my  pleasing  duty  to  inform  you  of  the  unex- 
pected happiness  of  our  little  Pet,  Lucilla,  whose  rare 
sweetness  and  beauty  hath  endear'd  her  to  me  as  to 
all  that  know  her.  When  your  Sister  Finetta  lay  (as 
it  was  believed)  upon  her  death  bed,  she  called  your 
Father  to  her  side  &  in  feeble  accents  pray'd  him  to 
grant  her  the  boon  of  withdrawing  his  Opposition  to 
Lucilla's  Alliance  with  Col.  Crespign3\  This,  upon 
the  assurance  from  me  (who  was  fortunate  to  be  so 
far  in  the  Col's  confidence  as  to  bear  proper  witness) 
of  his  unaltered  fidelity  to  the  lady  of  his  Love, 
was  freely  and  tenderly  granted  by  your  Papa,  which 
promise,  't  wou'd  seem,  afforded  at  once  to  the  suf- 
ferer a  Calm,  proving  to  be  the  precursor  of  Heal- 
thy Sleep.  I  have  myself  writ  the  summons  to  the 
Anxious  Lover  to  meet  Lucilla  under  her  Brother's 
Roof.  And  if  you  will  pardon  the  selfish  thoughts  of 
personal  joy  at  such  a  Time,  I  would  fain  be  first  to 
convey  the  news  that  our  Aunt  Ariana  at  Bath,  Eng- 
land, hath  presented  your  brother  with  her  handsome 
dwelling  and  estate.  Shannon  Hill,  twenty  miles  hence 


40  BELHAVEN  TALES 

in  Fauquier  County,  whither  we  shall  in  due  time 
remove,  and  your  brother  be  releas'd  from  the  dis- 
comfort of  rented  land,  which  he  has  borne  in  silence, 
as  befits  his  noble  self.  Trusting  that  the  white- 
winged  Dove  of  Peace  and  Happiness  will  henceforth 
unfurl  her  wings  upon  our  Family,  &  with  mine  and 
my  Mr.  Berkeley's  most  affect,  respectful  Compl'mts 
to  your  husband,  and  kisses  to  your  Pets,  believe  me. 
Your  attach'd,  faithful  friend  and  Sister, 

Juliana  Berkeley. 


VII 


A  Fragment 

From  Miss  Lucilla  Berkeley  to  Mrs.  Faulkland,  Mt. 
Eagle. 

Clairemont,  28th  October,  1803. 
Sister  mine,  my  heart  overflows  in  these  few  lines 
to  tell  you  that  He  has  come.     Am  I  wrong,  amid  all 
the  sorrow  still  liug'ring  o'er  my  home  and  dear  ones, 
to  be  so  hap — 


II 


PENELOPE'S  SWAINS 


N  the  breakfast-room  of  the  Misses 
Berkeley  in  old  Belhaven  town, 
in  Virginia,  you  might,  before  the 
war,  have  beheld  daily  a  pleasant 
spectacle. 

As  soon  as  the  last  relay  of  bat- 
ter-cakes had  been  carried  out  by  Trip,  it  was  Miss 
Penelope  Berkeley's  custom  to  call  in  a  black  wo- 
man bearing  upon  a  tray  a  cedar  piggin  hooped  with 
brass  and  full  of  boiling  water,  a  mop,  a  bit  of  soap, 
and  some  fair  towels  of  linen  crash.  Into  this  tub 
the  old  lady  would  first  dip  her  tea-pot,  sugar-dish, 
and  cream-jug  of  oval-shaped  colonial  silver;  after 
them,  in  regular  routine,  cups  and  saucers,  spoons 
and  forks.  Transferred  from  their  steaming  bath 
to  Gray's  dainty  finger-tips,  the  various  articles  were 
dried  and  in  pristine  luster  re-niched  in  a  corner  cup- 
board. Not  for  the  world  would  Gay  have  let  fall 
one  of  those  family  treasures.  Her  care  for  them 
was  that  of  the  Guards  in  the  Tower  of  London  for 
the  regalia  of  the  Crown. 

41 


42  BELHAVEN  TALES 

One  beautiful  May  day,  when  the  custard  honey- 
suckle had  sent  a  flower  inside  the  sash  of  the  break- 
fast-room window  to  woo  Gay  into  the  garden,  it  was 
made  evident  by  sundry  tokens  that  something  had 
stirred  the  spinster  household  from  its  normal  calm. 
Trip,  the  kitchen  Mercury,  in  a  clean  check  pinafore, 
his  head  bristling  with  twigs  of  plaited  wool,  dis- 
played a  continual  grin  and  a  pair  of  wildly  goggling 
eyes.  Dennis,  the  purblind  butler,  shuffling  around 
the  table,  with  snow-white  jacket  and  long  linen 
apron,  wore  an  air  of  gratified  hospitality,  tempered 
only  by  the  memory  of  Trip's  shortcomings  (Trip,  his 
great-grandson,  in  training  for  house-service,  was  the 
thorn  in  Dennis's  side),  and  Susan,  the  housemaid, 
had  tied  her  kerchief  with  coquettish  consciousness 
about  her  head.  Upon  the  forsaken  table,  await- 
ing Miss  Penelope's  regenerating  touch,  was  not  a 
portion  but  all  of  the  Berkeley  tea-service  (even  the 
urn  with  a  pine-apple  on  top,  reserved  for  special  tea- 
parties),  and  also  the  Nantgarrow  cups  and  saucers, 
with  brier-roses  and  trefoils,  that  saw  daylight  only 
behind  glass,  except  as  a  mark  of  honor  to  cherished 
guests. 

Gay,  divided  between  her  anxiety  to  see  china  and 
silver  back  in  safety  on  the  shelves,  a  physical  excite- 
ment inspired  by  delicious  weather,  and  a  keen  femi- 
nine relish  for  a  sentimental  situation,  was  in  high 
feather.  An  old  lover,  a  has-been  suitor,  who  had 
sighed  in  vain  and  ridden  away  to  come  back  after 
many  years, — a  widower,  no  doubt  hoping  to  be  con- 
soled— here,  under  the  same  roof  with  his  first  love — 
Gay  an  eye-witness  to  the  progress  of  events, — what 


BELHAVEN  TALES  43 

an  enchanting  combination  !  True,  it  had  been  some- 
thing of  a  drawback  to  see  the  Reverend  Dr.  Foun- 
tain accept  from  Aunt  Penelope's  own  hand  three 
cups  of  coffee  and  a  glass  of  milk  in  quick  succession. 
He  had  also  partaken  more  heartily  of  rice-cakes, 
waffles,  rolls,  light  bread,  batter-bread,  cold  ham,  roe 
herrings,  radishes  and  broiled  tomatoes  than  ac- 
corded with  Gay's  theory  of  allegiance  to  the  past 
or  present  of  sentiment.  She  could  not  help  wonder- 
ing if  the  late  lamented  Mrs.  Fountain  had  been 
what  was  called  in  Belhaven  a  "  good  provider." 

And  now  that  the  meal  was  over.  Dr.  Fountain 
had  retired  with  Aunt  Finetta  into  the  paneled  par- 
lor looking  out  across  the  garden  and  river  to  the  red 
clay  hills  of  Maryland.  The  door  had  closed  behind 
them.  Aunt  Finetta,  who  invariably  sat  here  in  the 
family  room  reading  her  newspaper  until  the  things 
were  washed  and  put  away  and  Penelope  was  ready 
to  go  to  market!  How  funny  it  had  been  to  hear 
the  old  lady  say,  with  majestic  courtesy : 

''We  will  adjourn  temporarily  to  the  drawing- 
room.  Dr.  Fountain,  if  you  please,  leaving  to  my 
sister  the  care  of  our  few  domestic  duties." 

Was  this,  Gay  wondered,  a  blind  to  give  the  doc- 
tor an  opportunity  to  declare  his  enduring  passion 
for  Aunt  Penelope,  and  to  receive  her  elder  sister's 
blessing  on  his  hopes'?  For  Gay  had  often  heard 
the  Belhaven  gossip  about  the  Misses  Berkeley ;  how 
young  Fountain,  as  a  prospective  clergyman,  had 
been  Miss  Finetta's  choice  for  her  sister,  and  how 
Aunt  Penelope  had  obstinately  preferred  that  rattle- 
brained Daisy  Garnett.    Fountain,  ordained  a  priest 


44  BELHAVEN  TALES 

and  called  to  a  distant  parish,  had  married  and  flour- 
ished and  acquired  a  good-sized  family,  had  now  lost 
his  wife,  and  was  talked  of  as  on  the  way  to  become  a 
bishop.  When  it  was  announced  that  he  would  cer- 
tainly be  present  at  the  annual  convention  of  the 
Church,  to  meet  that  year  in  Belhaven,  Aunt  Fi- 
netta  had  forthwith  invited  their  friend  of  olden 
days  to  be  one  of  the  two  guests  assumed  as  her 
share  of  town  hospitality  toward  the  clergy.  This, 
to  Gay's  active  mind,  was  a  suspicious  circumstance. 
She  tried,  but  without  success,  to  adjust  to  it  some  of 
the  situations  in  the  novels  of  Mme.  d'Arblay  or  Miss 
Porter,  dear  to  her  through  many  readings  in  the 
hall  window-seat  up-stairs.  Mme.  d'Arblay  had  no 
elderly  hero  with  a  large  purple  face,  shaven  except 
for  a  beard  like  a  goat's  to  adorn  his  chin,  an  ora- 
torical style  of  general  conversation,  and  a  habit  of 
blowing  his  nose  with  a  resounding  blast.  Gay's  idea 
of  a  lover  was  that  he  should  use  his  handkerchief 
only  to  mop  beads  of  anguish  from  his  brow  when 
unsuccessful  in  his  suit. 

In  the  sixteen-year-old  judgment  of  a  head  stuffed 
with  old  songs,  old  sayings,  old  love-tales  and  young 
whims,  there  was  quite  as  much  incongruity  with 
romance  in  the  appearance  of  her  aunt's  other  ad- 
mirer of  langsyne.  Major  David  Garnett,  yclept  by 
his  fellow-townsmen  "  Daisy,"  had  been  a  famous 
Belhaven  buck  in  the  days  when  Birthnight  balls  still 
held  their  vogue.  How  often  had  Gay  seen  the  pink 
satin  frock,  with  its  umbrella- gores  and  leg-o'-mut- 
ton  sleeves,  in  which  Aunt  Penelope,  at  fourteen, 
had  danced  down  the  middle  of  a  reel  with  Daisy,  to 


IN    THE    HALL    WINDOW-SEAT. 


BELHAVEN  TALES  45 

wind  up  a  Tweuty-second-of-February  ball  at  Gads- 
by's  tavern ! 

"I  was  slighter  then,  my  love,"  Miss  Pen  would 
say  when  Gay's  reverent  fingers  measured  the  width 
and  depth  of  the  corsage.  ''I  remember  so  well 
this  was  new  just  when  'stooping'  had  been  de- 
clared out  of  fashion.  Dear  mama  made  us  wear 
a  piece  of  Russian  sheeting  under  the  bust,  with 
shoulder-straps,  and  brother  Billy  laughed  and  said 
no  fine  lady  but  would  now  be  seen  bridling  up 
in  company;  and  so  it  was.  We  wore  our  hair 
smooth  and  glossy,  like  a  satin  cap,  and  on  top  two 
or  three  bows  of  hair  with  feathers  and  roses.  Mrs. 
Betsey  Thompson,  who  'd  been  a  widow  just  one 
year, —  she  that  was  afterward  Mrs.  Colonel  Steptoe, 
of  the  Eastern  Shore, —  appeared  that  night  in  a 
high  black  crape  puff  with  silver  spangles  and 
black  feathers  on  her  head,  a  frock  of  blue  Italian 
muslin,  and  a  black  spencer ;  this  she  was  pleased 
to  call  second  mourning  !  The  Misses  Delaney  were 
the  belles ;  they  wore  white  lutestring  with  gold 
spangles  and  gold  cords,  and  green  velvet  leaves 
sewed  all  round  the  tail — poor  Billy  was  so  attentive 
to  the  elder,  Sally  Delaney,  who  married  a  Tucker 
and  died  before  my  dear  brother — where  was  I, 
child  ? " 

"At  the  ball,  Auntie,  dancing  the  reel  with  Major 
Daisy.     Tell  me  some  more  about  the  ball." 

"  There  were  seven  hundred  guests,  my  dear,  and 
the  supper  was  truly  elegant.  I  walked  in  the  pro- 
cession with  Mr.  Garnett.  There  was  a  monstrous 
cake  in  the  middle  of  the  table,  ornamented  with  an 


46  BELHAVEN  TALES 

equestrian  statue  of  General  Washington,  the  whole 
covered  with  sugar-candy  in  the  form  of  a  cone,  on 
top  of  which  was  the  American  eagle.  Then  there 
were  jellies  and  blanc-manges,  oranges  and  nuts,  all 
sorts  of  dressed  dishes,  ornamental  cakes  and  sugar 
emblems,  and  the  sweetest  baskets  made  of  maca- 
roons and  filled  with  kisses." 

"  Goodness ! "  cried  Gay. 

"  Yes,  there  was  no  scrimping  in  those  days,  I  '11 
promise  you,  though  I  have  heard  mama  tell  how  the 
General  used  to  laugh  at  some  of  the  older  Belhaven 
parties,  calling  them  bread-and-butter  balls.  After 
the  supper  was  eaten,  the  beans  scrambled  for  the 
sugar  eagle  on  top  of  the  cake,  and  Mr.  Garnett  got 
it  and  presented  it  to  me." 

"  To  think  you  were  only  fourteen,  Aunt  Pen,  and 
I  'm  not  allowed  to  turn  out  yet." 

"  It  was  the  custom  of  the  day,  my  love." 

"  What  became  of  the  sugar  eagle,  Auntie "? " 

"  My  child — some  things  are  very  mysterious.  It 
crumbled  away  the  year  Mr.  Garnett  went  to  the  war 
in  Mexico.  I  opened  the  box  to  look  at  it,  and  found 
it  quite  destroyed;  and  the  very  next  week  came 
news  that  he  was  wounded  at  Chapultepec ! " 

Gay,  who  knew  every  word  of  the  recital,  always 
drew  a  long  breath  of  awe-stricken  satisfaction  at 
this  point. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  Miss  Penelope,  who  could 
now  speak  of  her  old  swain  so  calmly,  had  once 
wished  to  marry  him.  But  Miss  Berkeley,  ruling 
her  family  with  a  rod  of  iron,  would  have  none 
of  David  Garnett.     She  considered  him  a  reckless 


BELHAVEN  TALES  47 

young  fellow,  unfit  to  be  trusted  with  the  happi- 
ness of  her  sole  surviving  sister,  the  youngest  of  the 
flock.  Pen  was  inclined  to  giddiness,  and  Daisy  far 
too  fond  of  frolicking,  tippling,  horses,  cards,  and 
dancing.  One  heard  of  him  here,  there  and  every- 
where in  Maryland  and  Virginia,  at  '^  weddin's,"  fox- 
hunts, races  and  barbecues.  "Worse  than  all,  he  had 
exchanged  shots  in  an  encounter  near  Bladen sburg 
with  a  senator  from  South  Carolina,  with  whom 
he  had  had  the  misfortune  to  differ  on  a  question 
of  State  precedence.  After  this,  Miss  Berkeley — 
who,  having  once  published  a  diatribe  in  pamphlet 
form  against  the  appearance  of  certain  of  the  Vir- 
ginian clergy  in  the  chancel  without  robes,  was  con- 
sidered to  have  a  scathing  style  in  authorship — sat 
down  and  wrote  to  David,  forbidding  him  the  house. 
Then  it  was  that  Penelope  was  said  to  have  bowed 
before  the  blast,  and  renounced  the  "  understanding" 
between  her  lover  and  herseK. 

Gay  could  not  reconcile  these  traditions  of  Major 
Daisy's  jeunesse  orageuse  with  the  trig  little  lame  gen- 
tleman wearing  a  rusty  auburn  scratch,  his  winter- 
apple  face  crisscrossed  with  wrinkles,  who,  as  regu- 
larly as  Saturday  night  came  around,  hung  his  hat 
on  the  spinsters'  hall  peg.  Thanks  to  time,  the  soft- 
ener of  all  asperities,  Aunt  Finetta  defied  David  no 
longer.  There  was  even  a  neighborly  welcome  for 
him  in  Princess  Royal  street,  Avhere  the  old  Berke- 
ley mansion  reared  its  high-shouldered  chimneys 
draped  with  English  ivy  and  wistaria  to  the  gaze  of 
passers-by. 

Gay,  taking  part  sometimes  with  the  major  and  her 


48  BELHAVEN   TALES 

great-aunts  in  a  four-liauded  game  of  cards,  used  to 
wonder  could  this  be  the  gallant  volunteer  who,  when 
left  badly  wounded  by  the  tide  of  battle  sweeping  up 
the  heights  of  Chapultepec,  had  lain  hugging  to  his 
breast  the  flag  he  had  snatched  from  the  hand  of  its 
dead  bearer,  and  cheering  his  comrades  on  to  vic- 
tory? The  major,  whose  game  leg  was  a  souvenir  of 
that  occasion,  had  indeed  long  since  settled  down 
from  the  ways  of  his  wild  youth  into  a  Belhaven 
landmark  as  steady  and  familiar  as  the  town  clock. 
He  had  ''joined  the  church"  and  become  a  vestry- 
man ;  he  was  the  leader  in  "  Mear "  and  "  Federal 
Street"  in  a  straggling  choir  of  volunteers;  was 
frequently  called  on  to  be  a  godfather ;  and  as  a 
pall-bearer  was  an  assurance  to  survivors  of  the 
high  respectability  of  the  departed. 

It  was  a  common  saying  that  no  wedding  could 
take  place  without  "points"  from  Major  Daisy. 
First  to  know  of  the  engagement — what  time  the 
bud  of  love  had  been  pleased  to  break  into  unex- 
ampled flower — he  was  the  confidant  of  Jenny's  pets 
and  Jessamy's  despair,  and  in  due  course  brought  the 
lovers  in  safety  to  the  altar,  gave  away  the  bride, 
and  was  the  first  to  salute  her  blushing  cheek.  At 
the  wedding-feast  who  but  he  could  be  counted  on  to 
offer  toasts,  fill  plate  and  glass  for  lonely  wallflow- 
ers, lead  out  touchy  maiden  aunts,  joke  with  "the 
boys"  who  wore  the  willow  for  the  bride,  and  keep 
the  bridesmaids  in  a  flutter  with  his  compliments'? 

At  christenings  Major  Daisy  was  great.  He  had  a 
genius  for  discovering  in  the  unformed  features  of 
the  infant  on  exhibition  the  likeness  of  all  others  it 


BELHAVEN  TALES  49 

was  meet  and  right  for  that  child  to  have.  Was 
there  in  the  family  annals  a  distinguished  dimple, 
or  scowl  or  squint  desirable  to  perpetuate,  he  would 
espy  and  proclaim  it  to  flattered  parents. 

At  funerals,  again,  he  might  be  seen,  his  hat  borne 
down  under  a  long  black  weeper,  his  hands  lost  in 
the  wrinkles  of  undertaker's  gloves,  walking  in  the 
procession  with  a  look  of  rooted  gloom.  Thus 
equipped,  he  inclined  bystanders  to  believe  in  the 
great  loss  the  community  sustained  in  the  death 
of  old  Aleck  Appleby,  who  for  twenty  years  had 
been  soaking  himself  in  whisky  and  disgracing  all 
his  kin. 

In  politics  Major  Daisy  was  an  old-line  Whig,  con- 
tributing, over  the  signature  of  "  Senex,"  many  ar- 
ticles on  the  tariff  and  subjects  of  kindred  interest 
to  the  columns  of  the  "National  Intelligencer"  in 
Washington.  He  was,  in  theory,  a  deadly  opponent 
of  some  of  the  incendiary  teachings  of  Thomas  Jef- 
ferson, and  his  modern  idol  was  the  Honorable 
Henry  Clay.  He  was  an  enthusiastic  freemason, 
frequenting  the  lodge  of  Washington  in  Cameron 
street;  and  as  a  citizen  was  second  to  none  in  the 
estimation  of  his  townspeople,  although  not  in  active 
business,  having  inherited  a  wide  old  double  house 
in  which  he  lived  alone,  and  sufficient  patrimony  for 
his  small  wants  and  large  charities. 

Ah,  yes,  it  was  years  since  Miss  Penelope  had 
folded  away  her  love-dream,  sprinkled  with  rue  and 
pansies,  like  a  garment  of  the  beloved  dead.  And 
yet  little  Gay's  sharp  eyes  were  not  mistaken  in  see- 
ing upon  her  faded  cheek  a  faint  warmth  when  the 


50  BELHAVEN   TALES 

major  stepped  in  on  Saturdays  to  offer  her  revenge 
at  cards  or  chess  or  backgammon.  He  brought  her  a 
pink  rosebud  once,  plucked  in  the  yard  while  waiting 
for  Dennis  to  hobble  to  the  door — and  reminded  her 
that  she  had  always  looked  so  well  in  pink.  Next 
day  Gay  found  Miss  Penelope  picking  out  the 
rosettes  of  lavender  "  love "  ribbon  in  her  evening 
cap  and  fumbling  with  some  loops  of  rose  color. 
But  Miss  Finetta's  brusque  entrance  and  demand  to 
know  what  nonsense  she  was  at,  fussing  with  such 
colors  at  her  age,  made  Miss  Penelope  hasten  to 
put  back  the  lavender,  which  had  never  since  been 
changed. 

Miss  Penelope  Berkeley  was  now  a  fair,  pretty  old 
lady,  with  dimples  and  a  double  chin,  her  drab  hair, 
once  golden,  worn  in  two  ''sausages"  on  each  temple. 
She  had  grown  stout,  but  was  still  active  on  her  feet, 
and  was  always  sent  for  when  trouble  or  illness  came 
to  the  household  of  a  friend.  She  was  not  learned 
or  very  accomplished.  Her  representation  of  The 
Flood  in  cross-stitch  worsted  work,  now  hanging 
over  the  chamber  mantelpiece,  began  and  ended  her 
achievements  with  the  needle.  She  could  sit  down 
to  the  piano  in  the  twilight  and  play  pieces  that  gave 
delight  to  listening  ears,  and  as  a  housekeeper  her 
fame  went  far  and  wide.  "  She  makes  the  best 
pickles  of  any  woman  I  ever  ate,"  was  the  com- 
ment of  a  rival,  who  would  not  yield  to  Miss  Pene- 
lope the  palm  for  preserves  of  watermelon  rind 
carved  to  resemble  Chinese  ivories.  She  was  gen- 
erous to  a  fault,  tender,  forgiving.  To  carry  to  her 
one's  sorrows  was  like  lying  down  when  tired  on  an 


BELHAVEN  TALES  51 

old-time  feather-bed.  Aud  she  adored  novels.  Gay's 
taste  for  romance  was  omnivorous,  hardly  anything 
coming  amiss  to  her,  but  Miss  Penelope  liked  chiefly 
those  many-volumed  works  where  the  cast  included  a 
traitor,  a  misunderstanding,  two  riven  hearts,  a  dying 
heroine,  and  a  lover  on  horseback  arriving  in  time 
for  the  last  sigh. 

Aunt  Finetta,  on  the  contrary,  was  given  to  no 
melting  at  imaginary  woes.  She  was  a  stern,  hawk- 
eyed  woman,  utterly  out  of  keeping  with  her  fairy- 
tale appellation  ;  and  was  many  years  older  than  her 
sister,  whom  she  regarded  as  in  some  respects  on  a 
par  with  their  orphan  grandnieee  Gay.  The  only  sur- 
vivors of  a  large  family  born  in  this  house,  she,  more 
than  her  sister,  belonged  to  the  bygones  that  pos- 
sessed it.  The  old  gray-white  stucco  pile,  built  by 
their  Scotch  grandfather  soon  after  his  arrival  in 
the  Virginian  colony,  had  always  been  hand  in  glove 
with  Virginian  history.  No  room  but  kept  its  tradi- 
tion of  some  personage  renowned  in  the  stirring  days 
before  and  after  the  American  Revolution.  The  epoch 
of  Miss  Finetta's  first  appearance  at  Belhaven  routs 
and  parties  had  been  before  the  ebb-tide  of  Belha- 
ven's  prosperity.  Her  people  had  led  the  van  of  enter- 
tainments to  strangers  and  townsfolk.  Now  all  were 
gone  —  friends,  parents,  fortune.  The  house  fairly 
echoed  with  haunting  whispers  of  the  past.  Nothing 
remained  but  the  old  walls,  the  old  furniture,  some 
old  servants,  a  genteel  competence,  sister  Penelope, 
and  Gay.  By  and  by  she  would  be 'carried  out  to 
take  her  place  in  the  family  vault,  already  crowded, 
under  the  cedars  of  the  old  town  burial-ground. 


52  BELHAVEN   TALES 

Gay  was  not  troubled  by  sueli  thoughts.  She  only 
lamented  the  cutting  off,  long  before  her  birth,  of 
their  right  of  way  to  the  river,  by  a  city  street. 
Once  the  gentry  who  caroe  to  drink  tea  in  Princess 
Royal  street  used  to  stroll  down,  between  box  walks 
and  under  bowers  of  jasmine,  to  see  their  own  ships 
set  sail  for  England.  After  that  period  came  the 
bustle  of  growing  commerce ;  but  now  the  long 
wharf  jutting  into  the  river,  and  the  dingy  ware- 
houses with  the  twinkling,  broken  panes  of  glass, 
had  passed  under  a  spell  of  silence  and  decay.  For- 
lorn as  was  their  present  aspect,  Gay  loved  to  steal 
down  and  sit  dangling  her  feet  over  the  edge  of  the 
rotting  docks,  to  dream  and  wonder  why  every  ex- 
citing thing  "had  been."  Born  a  sailor's  child,  she 
longed  to  repeople  these  hushed  spaces  with  the  sea- 
faring folk  that  had  kept  Belhaven  town  astir.  In 
early  childhood  she  had  fed  her  imagination  on  the 
stories  of  their  memorable  doings  on  the  deep  when 
they  sailed  richly  laden  barks  into  pirate-haunted 
waters.  Among  many  tales,  her  favorite,  perhaps, 
was  that  of  the  merchantman  homeward  bound  from 
London  in  1792,  chased  and  captured  by  the  French 
frigate  Insurgente,  her  crew  and  captain  carried  to 
Nantes,  drawn  up  in  a  line  in  the  prison  yard,  and 
every  other  man  picked  out  for  Madame  Guillotine  — 
the  survivors  escaping  over  the  prison  wall  by  using 
their  blankets  cut  into  strips  and  knotted  into  a  rope. 
Gay  liked  to  think  the  returning  heroes  of  that  ad- 
venture had  set  foot  in  safety  upon  the  crumbling 
boards  through  which  she  now  caught  glimpses  of 
water  lapping  upon  emerald-vested  piles. 


BELHAVEN  TALES  53 

As  she  grew  older,  such  dreams  of  the  sea  had  faded 
and  her  ambition  took  another  turn.  She  wanted  to 
go  out  and  shine  in  the  great  world.  If  her  father,  the 
lieutenant,  had  lived,  Gray  felt  sure  that  her  talents 
would  have  had  wider  scope.  She  was  impatient  of 
the  calm  routine,  the  church-going,  the  housekeeping, 
the  traditions,  the  long,  dull  streets  with  their  cobble- 
stones set  in  grass,  in  which  no  inexplicable  sound 
was  ever  heard.  Oh !  for  something  that  she  did  not 
understand — could  not  account  for!  Oh!  for  some 
break  in  this  monotony  of  peace ! 

Then  Gay  passed  into  a  softer  phase.  She  began 
to  look  oftener  in  the  glass,  to  tie  her  rough  locks 
under  a  ribbon  topknot,  to  speculate  about  love  and 
lovers.  That  her  own  suitor  should  be  tall,  with 
night-black  hair,  a  dome  like  brow,  and  a  hidden 
sorrow,  was  all  she  absolutely  exacted  of  fate  —  the 
rest  was  immaterial.  Failing  a  romance  on  her  own 
account,  she  took  the  deeper  interest  in  Aunt  Pene- 
lope's. Even  the  purple-faced  Dr.  Fountain  offered 
a  loophole  of  escape  from  the  uneventfulness  of  life 
in  old  Belhaven. 

•  "You  may  take  Peggy  and  the  basket  and  go  to 
market  for  me.  Gay,"  Aunt  Penelope  had  remarked, 
a  little  flurried.  "  You  know  what  we  need ;  and  be 
sure  Hodges  sends  us  the  right  cut  of  the  sturgeon. 
Dr.  Fountain  likes  his  sturgeon  stuffed  and  baked." 

Gay  winced  over  the  unsentimental  sturgeon,  but 
obeyed.  Nothing  she  loved  better  than  market-day 
and  a  little  brief  authority. 

The  clean   streets   around  the  market-place  were 


54  BELHAVEN   TALES 

crowded  with  country  wagons  from  which  the  horses 
had  been  unhitched  to  feed  at  the  back.  Inside, 
under  the  old  brick  arches,  was  delicious  shadow. 
Out  in  the  open  part  of  the  square  a  picturesque 
medley  of  booths  for  the  sale  of  fruit  and  flowers 
and  vegetables  was  shaded  by  awnings  from  the 
May  sun.  All  the  country-side  seemed  to  have  ren- 
dered tribute  in  May-flowers.  Even  the  fish-stalls, 
with  their  shining  spoils  of  the  Potomac,  and  the 
prosaic  butchers'  stands,  had  each  its  nosegay  of 
fresh  mock-orange,  lilac,  snowball  and  althea.  The 
cries  of  imprisoned  ducks  and  chickens  rose  above 
the  soft  chatter  of  the  negro  women,  gay  and  emu- 
lous to  Sell  their  wares.  Everybody  was  at  leisure  to 
be  civil,  and  what  elsewhere  is  the  mosquito-note 
of  business  here  subsided  into  the  drone  of  honey- 
bees at  harvest. 

''  If  that  is  n't  Major  Daisy  with  old  Vulcan  ! "  ex- 
claimed Miss  Gay  to  her  attendant. 

"Major  Daisy  larfin'  roun'  de  wrong  side  uv  he 
mouf  to-day,  I  reckon,"  said  Peggy,  sapiently.  "Law, 
honey,  he  'sarves  it,  he  suttinly  do,  fur  lettin'  ole  Miss 
give  him  de  mittin  fur  Miss  Pen,  Shua  's  you  live 
dere  's  to  be  a  weddin'  in  de  fambly,  cos  I  done  fotch 
it  in  coffee  groun's  an'  in  de  keards." 

"A  wedding !     Oh,  Aunt  Peggy  ! "  cried  Gay. 

"You  jes  wait,  chile.  'Pears  like  husbands  is  a 
long  time  a-comin'  to  our  house,  but — (Look  heah, 
you  niggah  !  Ef  you  blocks  up  our  way  I  '11  make  a 
mashed  persimmon  uv  you,  mighty  quick.)  Ef  on'y 
ole  Miss  don'  go  discommodatin'  Providence  by  shet- 
tin'  de  do'  in  dis  heah  one's  face — " 


IX    THE    OLD     MARKET. 


BELHAVEN  TALES  55 

"  But,  Aunt  Peggy,"  said  Gray,  who  knew  the  terms 
upon  which  the  termagant  lived  with  her  own  meek 
little  consort,  Mars,  ''I  thought  you  don't  approve 
of  marrying." 

''  Laws,  chile,  who  said  I  do  ?  (None  o'  them  to- 
marteses  o'  yourn,  Miss  Johnson.  I  'm  s'prised  at 
you  fur  offerin'  'em  to  my  young  miss.)  Men  is 
triflin',  no  'count  critters,  honey;  but  I  s'pose  de 
good  Lawd  knowed  wot  he  was  arter  when  he 
'lowed  dat  husbands  was  to  be." 

Gay,  more  affected  than  she  chose  to  admit  by 
Peggy's  prophecy, — for  the  old  woman  enjoyed 
great  renown  as  a  fortune-teller, — felt  quite  a  pang 
of  sympathy  for  Major  David  when  they  came  up 
with  the  little  gentleman,  who  was  purchasing 
some  rather  diminutive  chops  to  put  into  the  large 
basket  the  colored  butler  carried  upon  his  arm. 

"  Good  morning.  Miss  Gay.  Hope  I  see  you  well, 
ma'am,"  he  said,  with  a  flourishing  bow.  "Caught 
the  old  bachelor  buying  his  dinner,  eh?  Well,  it  's 
like  keeping  house  for  a  canary,  so  Vulcan  thinks ; 
but  I  'm  blessed  if  I  know  what  to  get  when  I  'm  by 
myself.  And  how  are  the  good  ladies  this  morning? 
Was  a  little  afraid  Miss  Pen  would  have  a  return  of 
her  earache  after  going  out  on  the  porch  to  see  the 
new  moon  o'  Saturday." 

The  earache !  How  unrefined  !  No  word,  no  con- 
sciousness of  the  presence  of  the  hated  rival  in  the 
Berkeley  house !  Gay  felt  defrauded  of  a  dramatic 
situation. 

"  You  know  we  've  staying  company,"  she  said, 
with  a  little  toss  of  the  head.     ''A  most  agreeable 


56  BELHAVEN  TALES 

and  eminent  divine.  The  Reverend  Joshua  Foun- 
tain, a  friend,  a  very  old  friend,  of  my  aunts." 

"Fountain"?  You  don't  say  so.  Why,  of  course 
I  know  old  Fountain.  We  were  at  school  together ; 
and  the  boys — because  of  a  hearty  appetite — you 
know  boys  will  give  nicknames — they  called  him 
'  Gobbling  Josh.'  Ha  !  ha !  I  remember  one  day  at 
our  table — but  it  don't  do  to  tell  tales  out  of  school. 
Why,  of  course — Josh  married  Miss  Molly  Patton, 
of  Anne  Arundel.  I  remember  seeing  those  two  Pat- 
ton  sisters  —  Miss  Molly  was  the  little  foxy  one — at 
the  Greenbrier  White  in — let  me  see  —  what  year — " 

But  Gay,  with  great  dignity,  interrupted  him, 
"  Ur.  Fountain  has  been  a  widower  for  at  least  a 
year,"  she  said ;  "  and  I  think  my  aunts  will  be  ex- 
pecting me,  as  we  Ve  got  to  go  to  Convention  pres- 
ently—  so  good  morning.  Major  Garnett." 

She  blamed  herself  afterward  for  this  severity. 
In  books,  the  discarded  suitor  always  veils  his  real 
feeling  by  an  assumption  of  indifference.  She  even 
pardoned,  and  determined  to  forget,  the  odious  sug- 
gestion of  "  Gobbling  Josh,"  although  it  returned  to 
her  mind  more  than  once  at  the  dinner-table  that 
day,  when  the  family,  reinforced  by  a  new  arrival, 
another  reverend  appetite,  sat  down  to  enjoy  the 
sturgeon,  together  with  other  bountiful  provision 
of  Peggy's  and  Aunt  Penelope's  best  culinary  skill. 
Further  to  promote  good  fellowship.  Aunt  Finetta 
had  invited  in  her  next-door  neighbors,  the  Misses 
Bassett,  two  dear  little  old  ladies,  whose  establish- 
ment was  ruled  over  by  an  Angora  cat  always 
spoken  of  as  "  He,"  and  whose  fear  of  burglars  had 


BELHAVEN  TALES  57 

induced  them  to  invest  in  a  man's  hat  and  stick 
kept  prominently  in  view  in  theii-  front  hall. 

The  social  supremacy  of  the  clergy  in  Belhaven  has 
long  been  a  fact  accepted  with  resignation  by  her 
citizens  of  secular  avocations.  It  used  to  be  said 
by  the  disaffected  lawyers,  bankers,  doctors  and  mer- 
chants of  the  place  that  their  women  would  give  first 
chance  to  any  theologue,  even  were  he  the  downiest 
youngster  from  the  famous  school  of  divinity  hard 
by  the  town;  that  for  such  were  held  in  store  the 
brightest  smiles,  the  softest  arm-chairs,  the  most  but- 
tery of  muffins.  Without  accepting  this  slander,  we 
may  admit  the  discouragement  to  a  young  man  who 
had  requested  the  object  of  his  hopes  to  be  at  home 
to  him,  at  finding  her  alone  with  a  seminarian,  prac- 
tising "Come,  Ye  Disconsolate,"  at  the  melodeon. 
And  we  have  heard  of  a  Belhaven  serenade  received 
with  enthusiasm  by  the  maiden  beneath  whose  win- 
dow the  darkness  was  aroused  with  the  tune  of 
"Mary  to  the  Saviour's  Tomb,"  performed  as  a 
solo  on  the  French  horn ! 

The  only  real  dissipation  Belhaven  ever  indulged 
in  was  a  convention,  aud  the  week  was  very  gay. 
Tripping  over  the  newly  washed  bricks  of  the  side- 
walk, in  the  wake  of  ministerial  coats,  were  seen 
ladies  in  neat  morocco  slippers,  their  white  stock- 
ings crossed  with  black  ribbons,  their  bonnets  and 
mantillas  looking  as  if  just  come  out  of  silver  paper 
and  smelling  of  vanilla  bean.  They  flocked  to  every 
sitting  of  the  delegates,  and  in  the  intervals  ex- 
changed tea-parties  and  "dinings,"  at  which  each 
housewife  in  turn  was  expected  to  try  some  new 


58  BELHAVEN  TALES 

recipe.  With  their  eyes  devoutly  fixed  upon  the  ex- 
pounding doctor  iu  the  pulpit,  they  would,  during 
the  services,  be  often  torn  by  pangs  as  to  whether 
Aunt  Judy  would  know  when  to  take  that  cake  out 
of  the  oven,  or  whether  she  might  not  get  "  per- 
jinkety"  and  overspice  the  soup.  This  state  of 
things  was  hard  upon  the  doctrine,  but  comfortable 
for  the  divines. 

Under  such  conditions  Dr.  Fountain,  who  had  ar- 
rived in  Belhaven  wearing  his  bereavement  upon  his 
sleeve  for  all  to  see,  cheered  up  amazingly.  His  allu- 
sions to  the  loved  and  lost,  his  sniffs  at  tributes  to 
her  worth,  became  less  frequent.  He  waxed  even 
playful  iu  his  heavy  way.  He  made  visits  among 
his  old  acquaintances,  drank  tea  and  assumed  Sir 
Oracle  in  many  homes,  but  was  steadfast  in  return- 
ing early  to  enjoy  the  society  of  the  house  in  Prin- 
cess Royal  street.  The  Misses  Bassett,  who  from 
their  parlor  window  saw  everything,  declared  that 
coming  back  to  the  scenes  of  his  young  life  had 
made  the  doctor  lose  ten  years  of  his  age.  He 
walked  buoyantly,  exchanged  his  broad-brimmed 
hat  of  black  straw  for  a  white  one  with  a  black 
band,  and  preached  a  sermon  so  full  of  hope  for 
humanity  and  love  for  his  fellow-men  as  to  sound 
like  the  twittering  of  swallows  from  a  chimney-top. 
When  the  Misses  Bassett  asked  Miss  Penelope  if 
she  did  not  find  this  discourse  "most  refreshing," 
Aunt  Pen  assented  beamingly;  though  in  truth  the 
dear  old  lady  had  dozed  off  at  "  thirdly,  my  beloved 
brethren,"  not  to  awake  till  the  benediction.  Major 
Daisy,   stalking  up  the  aisle  of   the   church   after 


BELHAVEN  TALES  59 

everybody  else  was  seated,  with  the  gloves  usually 
carried  in  his  hat  still  resting  upon  his  wig,  heard 
the  sermon  also,  and  said  afterward,  with  a  quiz- 
zical smile,  that  "  Josh  was  taking  notice,"  he  pre- 
sumed. Dr.  Fountain,  who  had  come  to  spend  a 
week,  remained  with  the  Berkeleys  an  entire  fort- 
night, and  afterward  took  up  his  abode  at  the 
Mansion  House  Hotel,  near  by.  It  was  under- 
stood by  his  congregation  that  he  was  traveling 
for  his  health. 

And  now  little  nothings,  betokening  which  way 
the  wind  blew,  began  to  multiply.  He  asked  Aunt 
Penelope  to  play  for  him  "My  favorite  air,  the 
melody  of  Thomas  Moore  entitled : 

'  Believe  me  if  all  those  endearing  young  charms 
Which  I  gaze  on  so  fondly  to-day.'" 

He  brought  in  a  big  bunch  of  hundred-leaf  roses  pur- 
chased in  the  market-place,  and,  after  hovering  uncer- 
tainly around  Miss  Penelope  awhile,  presented  them 
to  Gay.  He  talked  a  great  deal  of  his  home,  and  his 
dear  girls,  and  of  the  fine  watermelon  crops  in  his 
part  of  the  country.  He  presented  "  Doddridge's 
Sermons  "  to  Miss  Berkeley ;  Pope's  "  Essay  on  Man  " 
to  Miss  Penelope ;  and  to  Gay  a  blue  and  gold  vol- 
ume of  "Selected  Poems  of  the  Affections,"  at  which 
she  laughed,  and  of  which  she  did  not  read  ten  lines. 
But  as  the  intentions  of  her  future  Uncle  Joshua  were 
good,  she  thanked  him  sweetly  and  redoubled  her  acts 
of  hospitable  kindness. 

One   night  Peggy,  accustomed  to  visit  her  Miss 


60  BELHAVEN  TALES 

Penelope  for  purposes  of  gossip  after  that  lady  had 
retired  to  bed,  found  her  time  for  calling  was  mis- 
calculated. Miss  Penelope,  in  a  voluminous  white 
wrapper,  starched  and  frilled,  was  still  upon  her 
knees  engaged  in  devotions  that  Peggy  from  experi- 
ence knew  were  likely  to  be  protracted  beyond  the 
limit  of  her  own  waiting  powers.  Peggy,  therefore, 
in  a  strained  and  melancholy  voice,  observed: 

"Miss  Pen  's  sayin'  her  pra'rs,  ain't  she?  I  jes 
wish  she  knowed  Miss  Fanny  Bassett  's  sont  in  to 
ax  fur  de  loan  uv  a  quart  uv  to-morrer  mornin's  milk 
fur  breakfas'," 

"Let  her  have  the  milk,"  came  in  hollow  tones 
from  beneath  Miss  Penelope's  night-coif;  and  then, 
to  Peggy's  disappointment,  down  went  the  head  in 
devotion  deeper  than  before.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
Peggy,  well  aware  of  the  dear  lady's  terror  of  a 
mouse,  was  not  long  at  a  loss.  Taking  a  ball  of 
wool  from  Miss  Penelope's  knitting-basket,  she  let 
it  shoot  across  the  floor  to  bring  up  against  her 
mistress's  protruding  foot.  With  a  shriek  and  a 
bound  Miss  Penelope  sprang  into  bed,  not  to  stop 
shivering  until  safely  tucked  in  —  deceitful  Peggy 
searching  everywhere,  but  of  course  in  vain,  for  the 
most  deadly  enemy  of  her  maiden  peace. 

"  Look  for  it,  Peggy.  Kill  it !  The  little  wretch 
touched  me.     Oh,  I  can  smell  him  still ! " 

"  Dey  worn't  never  nut'in'  like  de  giniwine  Berke- 
ley nose  fur  smellin'  low-down  smells,"  said  Peggy, 
emitting  a  series  of  alarming  sounds.  "  Dar  now, 
chile,  I  see  him  run  into  dat  crack  behin'  de  bureau, 
an'  he  '11  be  too  scart  to  come  back  dis  away  to-night. 


BELHAVEN  TALES  61 

Miss  Pen  — !  Shua  's  you  bawn  dat  gentleman  uv 
yourn  ain't  gwine  away  from  here  'thout  co'tin'  some- 
body.    He  's  suttiuly  sot  on  marryin'." 

''  Nonsense,  Peggy,"  said  Miss  Penelope. 

"  He  is  dat,  shna !  An'  husbands  ain't  so  plenty  in 
dis  house.  Now,  chile,  I  jes  want  to  speak  a  word  in 
season.  Ole  Miss  ain't  a  gwyne  to  las'  forever,  an'  when 
she  go,  who  's  to  take  keer  uv  you  'n'  Miss  Gay  ? " 

"  The  Lord  will  provide,  Peggy." 

^'  S'posin'  he  will,  you  'd  better  hold  on  to  your 
beau  dis  time,  tight.  He  ain't  so  purty  as  some; 
but  he  's  stiddy  an'  conformable-like,  an'  he  's  got 
chillen  to  keep  company  wid  Miss  Gay." 

"O  Peggy,  I  've  thought  of  all  that,"  said  poor 
Miss  Penelope.  "Don't  you  suppose  sister  Finetta 
has  been  at  me  every  day "?  I  'm  sure  I  never  saw 
her  so  possessed  to  take  anybody's  part." 

"  But  you  likes  him  jes  one  little  teeuchy  bit, 
honey "? "  coaxed  Peggy,  guiltily  conscious  of  a 
present  in  her  pocket  of  a  gold  dollar  bestowed  by 
Dr.  Fountain  for  encouragement  received,  when  she 
had  encountered  the  good  gentleman  walking  up  and 
down  between  her  rows  of  cabbages  and,  with  the 
familiar  wheedling  of  her  race,  had  contrived  to  let 
him  know  that  his  presence  in  the  house  was  not 
unacceptable  to  the  lower  powers. 

''Wait  till  he  asks  me,  Peggy,"  answered  Miss 
Penelope,  who,  resolutely  pulling  the  counterpane 
up  to  her  chin,  refused  to  say  another  word. 

The   afternoon  following  this  momentous  inter- 
view Gay  was  in  the   garden  tying  up  her  clove- 
6 


62  BELHAVEN  TALES 

pinks,  which  persisted  in  dropping  their  heavy,  lus- 
cious heads  to  mother  earth.  While  thus  employed, 
a  shadow  fell  across  her  sunshine,  and,  looking  up, 
she  beheld  the  tall,  black-coated  form  and  rubicund 
visage  of  their  reverend  visitor. 

What  followed  has  never  been  circumstantially 
told.  But  the  aunts  who  were  in  the  shady  cham- 
ber napping  over  their  books  were  surprised  and 
shocked  at  the  sudden,  impetuous  entrance  of  Miss 
Gay,  with  a  crimson  face  and  an  agitated  manner. 

''  He  's  a  horrid,  old,  conceited  thing ;  and  I  hope 
never  to  lay  eyes  on  him  again,"  she  cried,  dashing 
a  lapful  of  carnations  down  upon  the  floor. 

"  Gay,  I  am  astonished,"  remarked  both  of  the 
ladies  in  duet.     "  Pray,  child,  whom  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Dr.  Fountain,"  cried  Gay,  too  furious  to  cry. 
"He  thought  I  was  in  love  ivitli  Mm!  He  said  I  'd 
encouraged  him  to  stay.  And  he  said  he  'd  wres- 
tled in  prayer  about  me  till  he  'd  determined  to 
overlook  my  youth  and  take  me  to — be  —  his  — 
wife  !  " 

"My  dear,  you  must  be  dreaming,"  said  Aunt 
Penelope,  gently.  Aunt  Finetta  was  too  thunder- 
struck to  speak. 

"  No,  no,  it  's  perfectly,  hatefully  true.  I  despise 
him,  but  I  despise  myself  still  more.  When  I  only 
meant  to  be  kind  to  him  because  —  be  —  cause  —  " 
Here  Gay  stopped  and  choked. 

"It  's  my  duty  to  inquire  into  this  aifair,"  said 
Miss  Berkeley,  moving  majestically  toward  the  door. 

"  Oh,   you  need  n't ! "   said  Gay.      "  He  's   gone  ! 


BELHAVEN  TALES  63 

He  's  raging !  When  he  had  the  impudence  to  take 
my  fingers  in  his  old  flabby  hand  and  squeeze  them, 
I  just  pinched  him  —  pinched  him  awfully,  and  made 
him  let  me  go." 

Miss  Berkeley  stopped,  undecided,  with  her  hand 
upon  the  knob.  Then  turning  to  her  sister,  a  pained 
look  of  inquiry  came  upon  her  face. 

'*'  Penelope  ? "  she  said. 

'*  We  all  have  been  mistaken,  sister,"  was  the  quick 
answer.  " I  was  doing  my  best  to  please  you;  but — 
I  'm  afraid — I  feel  relieved." 

Two  years  after  these  events  Gay's  heart's  desire 
was  realized.  There  came  into  the  still  Belhaven 
streets  such  a  stir  and  marshaling  of  troops  that 
the  town  was  born  again  to  be  the  war-post  of  the 
days  of  Washington.  And  when  presently  the  boys 
in  gray  who  had  been  rallied  from  Belhaven's  homes 
marched  out,  the  boys  in  blue  marched  in.  Needless 
to  say  that,  drawn  from  its  rusty  scabbard,  the  sword 
he  had  carried  in  Mexico  was  offered  by  Major  Gar- 
nett  to  his  Virginia.  As  colonel  of  a  regiment  of  in- 
fantry he  served  at  the  two  battles  of  Manassas,  and 
for  several  campaigns  was  heard  of  wherever  there 
was  fighting  to  be  done.  Then  the  eager,  yearning 
friends  shut  up  in  Belhaven,  and  meeting  in  secret  to 
pray  for  the  armies  of  the  South,  learned  that  Gen- 
eral Garnett  had  lost  an  arm  and  a  leg  in  battle,  and 
was  lying,  not  expected  to  survive,  at  a  hospital  in 
Richmond.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Gay  saw  a 
blue  light  of  fixed  determination  burn  in  the  placid 
orbs  of  Aunt  Penelope.     Overcoming  all  obstacles, 


64  BELHAVEN  TALES 

and  braving  danger  and  distress,  Miss  Penelope  Berke- 
ley pushed  through  the  lines  and  went  to  Richmond. 

"Do  you  know  me,  David? "  she  asked,  at  the  mo- 
ment when  it  was  believed  his  gallant  soul  was  pass- 
ing to  its  reward. 

"  Know  you,  Pen  ? "  he  answered.  "  Why,  I  must 
be  in  heaven." 

''There  is  n't  much  of  me  left,  ma'am,"  he  re- 
marked, in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks,  to  his  devoted 
nurse ;  "  but  there  's  a  body  to  hold  my  heart,  and  a 
hand  to  put  the  ring  upon  your  finger.  Nothing 
should  part  us  now,  Pen.  Come,  say  you  '11  be 
Mistress  Garnett." 

"  O  David !  As  if  I  had  n't  loved  you  all  my  life," 
sighed  Miss  Penelope. 

General  and  Mrs.  Garnett  went  back,  after  a  while, 
to  live  in  the  old  house,  whence  Aunt  Finetta  had 
been  gathered  to  her  fathers.  Gay's  own  romance 
oame  to  her  in  due  season,  as  I  shall  have  presently 
to  tell.  But  long  before  that  was  finally  accom- 
plished she  had  given  to  Major  Daisy  the  enthusiastic 
homage  of  her  heart.  "  Between  Pen  and  Gay,"  the 
dear  old  boy  used  to  say,  ''  I  've  more  hands  and  feet 
and  coddling  than  any  one  man,  much  less  half  a 
man,  deserves." 

The  Reverend  Joshua  espoused  a  widow  with  six 
children,  three  farms,  and  a  temper  locally  renowned. 
Old  Peggy  died  firmly  believing  that  her  incanta- 
tions, if  not  her  diplomacy,  had  secured  a  husband 
to  the  ancient  house  of  Berkeley. 


Ill 


MONSIEUR  ALCIBIADE 


TRANSPARENTLY  gentle  despot, 
who  might  have  been  led  by  the 
finger-tip  of  the  youngest  member 
of  his  class,  was  M.  Alcibiade  de 
St.  Pierre,  the  Belhaven  dancing- 
master,  who  gave  also  lessons  in 
his  native  tongue.  Nature  had  endowed  him  with 
a  stationary  scowl,  his  mustaches  curled  wildly,  and 
he  bore  upon  the  brow  a  cicatrix  that  caused  his 
pupils  to  liken  him  to  the  swashbuckler  heroes  of 
Dumas,  Scott,  or  Cervantes.  In  outward  appear- 
ance he  was  Aramis,  Athos,  Porthos,  and  D'Artag- 
nan  in  one,  with  a  dash  of  Le  Balafre  and  Don 
Quixote  thrown  in. 

Although  this  picturesque  personage  was  a  com- 
parative new-comer  in  the  town,  the  forebear  of  M. 
Alcibiade  had  arrived  in  America  as  pendant  to  an 
expedition  supplying  an  interesting  chapter  of  fron- 
tier history.  Early  in  the  spring  of  1790  came  into 
port  at  Belhaven  a  party  of  French  immigrants  en- 

65 


66  BELHAVEN   TALES 

gaged  by  Playfair,  an  English  agent,  and  De  Sois- 
sons,  a  nimble-tongued  deceiver  of  his  compatriots, 
in  behalf  of  an  enterprise  organized  in  New  England, 
and  styled  the  Ohio  Land  Company,  to  people  the  wil- 
derness near  the  Kanawha  River,  beyond  the  west- 
ern woods  of  Virginia.  Among  the  travelers,  whose 
weary  hearts  beat  high  with  hope  as  they  touched 
the  shore  of  a  fancied  El  Dorado,  were  men  skilled 
in  the  exquisite  handicrafts  of  a  perfected  civiliza- 
tion. Carvers  there  were  of  furniture  like  wooden 
lacework ;  beaters  of  fine  brass  fashioned  into  rocaiUe 
decorations ;  painters  of  shepherds  piping  to  their 
fair,  of  Cupids  turning  somersaults  in  chains  of 
roses;  harpsichord-tuners;  makers  of  gilded  car- 
riages; varnishers  of  panels  that  shone  like  mirrors ; 
disciples  of  Boule  and  Martin  ;  confectioners  ;  perru- 
quiers  —  and  all,  by  a  fine  irony  of  fate,  bound  for  a 
log-hut  settlement,  where  the  cry  of  savage  beasts,  or 
the  war-whoop  of  the  deadly  Indian,  was  to  be  their 
nightly  lullaby. 

What  eloquence  had  prevailed  upon  these  hap- 
less beings  to  believe  they  were  to  be  the  founders 
of  a  brave  new  Paris  in  the  western  hemisphere, 
their  wily  managers  alone  could  tell.  The  first  in- 
stalment of  the  five  hundred  Frenchmen  said  to 
have  been  thus  deluded,  numbering  with  their  wives 
and  children  about  sixty,  after  much  waiting  at 
Belhaven,  their  souls  within  them  vexed  by  home- 
sickness and  hope  deferred,  split  up  into  variously 
minded  factions.  Some  pressed  on,  under  charge 
of  a  long-delayed  messenger  of  the  company,  to  the 
frontier;  others  put  their  all  into  a  return  passage 


BELHAVEN   TALES  67 

to  France ;  and  a  few  elected  to  remain  and  try 
their  fortunes  in  the  little  town,  which  in  those 
days  had  no  end  of  ambitious  projects  for  future 
greatness. 

One  of  these  prudent  ones  was  a  gay  old  bachelor, 
M.  Alcibiade  St.  Pierre,  self-styled  "Hair-Dresser  to 
the  Court  of  France."  He  opened  a  snug  little  shop, 
where  the  gentry  of  town  and  country  dropped  in  to 
have  their  perukes  dressed  and  tied,  to  be  shorn,  per- 
fumed and  shampooed,  after  the  latest  fashions  in 
vogue  before  Alcibiade  had  set  sail  for  the  New 
World.  He  was  sometimes  sent  for  to  bleed,  or  to 
apply  leeches,  and  his  mlUe-fleurs  graces  impressed 
the  townspeople  mightily.  As  his  trade  increased, 
Alcibiade  was  called  on  to  lament  the  sad  fortunes 
of  his  fellow-immigrants.  Most  of  those  who  became 
frontiersmen  had  succumbed  to  want  and  hardships, 
had  met  the  horrors  of  Indian  massacre,  or  had 
gone  under  in  the  collapse  of  an  international  specu- 
lation that  carried  down  its  promoters  in  the  crash. 
From  those  who  returned  to  France  had  come  dol- 
orous accounts  of  commotion  in  their  beloved  capital. 
Decidedly,  thought  M.  Alcibiade,  it  were  better  to 
stagnate  in  Belhaven  than  be  forced  by  a  mob  in 
Paris  to  dress  the  head  of  some  former  patron  upon 
a  pike  ! 

Simple-minded,  kindly,  cheery  as  le  petit  homme 
gris,  the  little  hair-dresser  became  a  great  favorite. 
A  trig  Scotch  lassie,  daughter  of  a  settler,  having 
fallen  in  love  with  him,  the  father  consented  to  the 
match  on  the  condition  that  the  intended  son-in-law 
would  renounce  his  French  patronymic  and  trans- 


68  BELHAVEN  TALES 

late  himself  into  plain  "A.  Peters"  upon  his  sign 
and  in  his  official  signature.  And  thus  it  came  to 
pass  that,  instead  of  the  stylish  frontispiece  so  flat- 
tering to  town  pride,  there  arose  above  the  shop 
door  an  announcement  remaining  there  until  its 
blue  and  gold  were  dimmed  by  time: 

A.  PETERS,   ladies'  AND  GENTS'   HAIR- 
DRESSER AND  BARBER. 


And,  farther  down : 

wigs  and  toupets. 

Diseases  of  the  Scalp. 

Onguents  and  Scents. 

hair- powder,  rouge  and  patches. 

attendance  at  house  for  balls  and 

ROUTS. 

Also: 

Teeth  pulled,  and  Lively  Leeches 
constantly  in  stock. 


By  the  smiles  and  blushes  of  his  buxom  bride 
the  gallant  Alcibiade  considered  himself  well  paid 
for  his  self-sacrifice.  Continuing  to  prosper,  he 
gave  hostages  to  hair-dressing  in  the  shape  of  sev- 
eral  little  lads  who  spoke   English  with  a  broad 


BELHAVEN  TALES  69 

Scotch  burr,  French  not  at  all,  and,  later  in  life, 
seized  with  nostalgia,  emigrated  with  his  family  to 
end  his  days  on  the  soil  that  gave  him  birth. 

Old  Mr.  Peters  had  become  a  figment  of  tradi- 
tion in  the  town  when  his  grandson,  the  present 
Alcibiade,  appeared  upon  the  scene.  To  the  ances- 
tral St.  Pierre  the  new  representative  had  prefixed 
a  patrician  "de,"  vaguely  explained  as  having  been 
resumed  by  the  family  on  recovering  possession  of 
estates  lost  in  the  French  Revolution.  To  plain 
people  in  Belhaven  this  prefix  was  interpreted  to 
be  an  initial  letter  D,  doing  duty  for  a  middle 
name  not  given.  As  for  the  estates,  they  must 
have  been  limited  to  the  amount  aptly  if  not 
elegantly  designated  by  the  French  Commandant 
Marin  in  the  conference  with  the  Half-King  of  the 
Six  Nations,  recorded  by  Washington  in  1753,  when 
he  said,  "  Child,  you  talk  foolish ;  there  is  not  so 
much  land  as  the  black  of  my  nail  yours." 

When  first  arrived  in  Belhaven,  the  poor  French- 
man was  indeed  in  a  pitiable  plight.  The  attention 
of  the  town  was  called  to  him  by  certain  readings 
and  recitations  in  his  own  language,  advertised  to 
be  given  in  Lafayette  Hall. 

Gay  Berkeley,  who,  with  her  maiden  aunt  Penel- 
ope, had  gone  into  Mrs.  Dibble's  shop  to  purchase 
pens  and  writing-paper,  picked  up  from  the  counter 
a  long  sheet  of  manuscript  that  excited  her  amused 
curiosity.  It  was  apparently  a  programme,  writ- 
ten on  foolscap  in  a  fine  copper-plate  hand,  and  ex- 
pressed in  a  queer  French-English  that  would  have 
been  a  credit  to  the  manual  known  to  fame  as  the 


70  BELHAVEN  TALES 

"  Portuguese  Grammar  and  Guide  to  Polite  Conver- 
sation." 

On  my  arrival  from  the  France,  me  Alcibiade  de  St.  Pierre, 
Chevalier  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  and  ex-artist  of  the  theatres 
of  Paris,  do  make  hurry  to  throw  myself  at  the  feet  of  illus- 
trious citizens  of  Belhaven,  with  a  presentment  special  of  se- 
lections from  the  immortal  Eacine  et  Corneille,  such  present- 
ment to  have  place  Hall  Lafayette,  the  Monday  evening  to 
follow.  Receive,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  my  distinguished  hom- 
ages and  impressed  salutations  your  very  humble  serviteur. 

"What  in  the  world  is  this,  Mrs.  Dibble?"  asked 
the  young  lady,  with  dimpling  cheeks, 

"Indeed,  Miss  Gay,  I  told  the  Chevalier  that  it 
would  n't  be  long  catchin'  the  eye  o'  my  best  cus- 
tomers," responded  Mrs.  Dibble,  complacently.  "I 
helped  him  out  a  bit  with  the  words  he  did  n't 
know.  Dear  heart,  if  it  was  n't  only  but  for  the 
handwritin',  as  good  as  Mr.  Johnson's  nephew  that 
was  put  in  State's  prison  for  forgery,  pore  fellow, 
he  that  used  to  practise  here  with  fine  nibs  an' 
broad  nibs,  writin'  cards  —  spread  eagles  with  your 
name  in  curlicues  comin'  out  o'  their  beaks — an' 
true-lovers'  knots  an'  doves,  if  't  was  a  new-married 
pair.  Miss  Penelope,  I  'm  ashamed  to  say  I  'm  clean 
out  o'  quills ;  but  old  Farmer  Berry  up  at  the  cross- 
roads, the  only  one  I  can  trust  to  pick  the  geese 
properly,  '11  bring  me  a  new  lot  to-morrow.  Miss 
Gay,  now,  she  's  new  school,  'n  uses  steel — sand, 
ma'am  ?  Yes ;  of  course.  The  usual  quantity  ? 
Here  's  sweet  note-paper,  Miss  Gay,  just  received 
from  Baltimore,  the  tip  o'  the  mode,   they  say — 


BELHAVEN  TALES  71 

pale  pink  an'  skim-milk  blue.  Plain  white,  did  you 
say,  miss?  Yes;  I've  some  cream-laid,  like  you  Ve 
always  used  befo'.  If  you  've  nothin'  better  to  do, 
ladies,  't  would  be  a  charity  to  that  pore  Mounseer 
to  patronize  his  performance  a  Monday  night.  If 
't  was  only  for  old  times'  sake,  Miss  Penelope, 
ma'am;  many  's  the  head  he  's  dressed  —  I  mean 
his  grandfather  's  dressed  —  for  your  f am'ly.  Yes ; 
old  Mr.  Peters's  grandson,  as  I  'm  alive,  ma'am,  an' 
the  entertainment  most  genteel.  Selections  from 
Corneel  an'  Raycine ;  fifty  cents  for  adults,  twenty- 
five  for  children,  an'  a  special  reduction  for  ladies' 
schools.  I  thought  there  'd  be  a  chance  to  get  the 
young  gentlemen  from  Mr.  Penhallow's  Academy ; 
but  the  Chevalier  kinder  shriveled  up  at  the  men- 
tion o'  boys,  an'  said '  t  was  too  hard  to  keep  up  the 
true  dignity  o'  the  drama  when  the}^  was  present  — 
Lord  knows,  since  I  took  to  keepin'  sweet  stuff  in 
t'  other  winder  I  'm  up  to  the  ways  o'  boys.  If 
it  's  only  a  penny  horse-cake  —  comin'  back  as  bold 
as  brass,  with  the  hind  legs  eat  off,  declarin'  they  's 
found  a  dead  fly  instead  of  a  currant  for  the  eye, 
an'  wautin'  their  money  or  another  cake  — " 

"Do  take  some  tickets,  Aunt  Pen,"  pleaded  Gay. 

"You  know  my  sister  does  not  approve  of  any- 
thing theatrical,  my  love,"  whispered  Aunt  Penel- 
ope. "Most  of  our  church-members  think  with 
her.  To  be  sure  dear  mama  used  often  to  tell  us 
of  the  time  when  General  Washington  and  his  lady, 
and  Miss  and  Master  Custis,  drove  up  to  stop  two 
nights  at  grandpapa's,  expressly  to  attend  '  The  Tra- 
gedy of  Douglas,'  by  Mr.  Home,  and  a  play  caUed 


72  BELHAVEN  TALES 

'The  Inconstant;  or,  The  Way  to  Win  Him.'  Ma- 
ma saw  all  the  entertainments  of  the  kind,  I  be- 
lieve.   It  was  thought  of  differently  in  those  days." 

"  Doctor  Falconer/'  ventured  Gay,  mentioning  an 
eminent  divine,  "quoted,  when  he  last  drank  tea 
with  us,  a  passage  from  Racine.  And  these  are 
only  recitations,  auntie,  no  acting  or  costumes." 

"Oh,  in  that  case,"  said  Aunt  Penelope,  taking 
out  her  purse,  "  you  may  give  me  four  tickets,  Mrs. 
Dibble,  and  you  may  invite  two  members  of  your 
French  class,  child.  Seats  in  the  second  row,  if 
you  please,  Mrs.  Dibble.  In  a  thing  of  this  kind 
it  is  well  to  be  near  enough  to  study  the  expres- 
sion of  the  performer's  face ;  and  one  likes  to  for- 
get the  crowd  when  it  's  poetry.  I  'm  sure  sister 
Fiuetta  will  be  pleased  to  hear  about  old  Mr. 
Peters's    grandson." 

Lafayette  Hall  was  a  dingy,  ill-lighted  room  over 
the  second  floor  of  the  building  in  which  Mrs.  Dib- 
ble kept  her  shop.  To  the  young  people  it  was  as- 
sociated with  the  intermittent  delights  of  perform- 
ances by  trained  dogs  and  canaries ;  by  Blind  Tom, 
a  negro  pianist  who  could  repeat  every  air  sug- 
gested to  him  by  the  audience,  and  play  better 
with  his  hands  behind  him  than  most  of  his  hear- 
ers in  the  natural  attitude ;  by  the  tuneful  Hutch- 
inson family,  who  stood  in  a  row  and  warbled;  by 
jugglers  always  interesting,  and  returned  mission- 
aries, less  alluring  to  the  young;  of  May  exhibi- 
tions of  female  seminaries,  whereat  the  pupils  in 
book-muslin  with  arbor- vitae  wreaths  recited  before 
applauding  parents  poems  in  honor  of  their  queen, 


BELHAVEN   TALES  73 

and  were  afterward  regaled  with  lemonade  and 
cake.  It  was  there  that  Gay,  as  first  lady-in-wait- 
ing, had  once  retired  behind  the  queen's  throne  in 
tears,  because  her  majesty  had  not  scrupled  to  twit 
her  with  wearing  one  of  Aunt  Pen's  muslins  "made 
over" — which  was  too  true. 

Even  now  Gay  could  not  divest  herself  of  the  ex- 
hilaration produced  by  the  sight  of  that  green  baize 
curtain  and  the  oil-lamps  serving  as  foot-lights. 
When,  on  the  evening  of  the  Chevalier's  debut,  she 
came  into  the  hall,  she  nodded  on  every  side  to 
her  friends,  with  a  feeling  that  this  was  Hfe. 
Mrs.  Dibble,  whose  person  was  attired  in  grass- 
green  mousseUne  de  laine,  with  a  wide  collar  of 
dotted  net,  trimmed  with  cotton  lace,  took  tickets 
at  the  door;  and  in  a  conspicuously  good  seat  sat 
Viney  Piper,  the  little  day-dressmaker,  whose  pas- 
sion for  the  drama  led  her  to  patronize  every  re- 
spectable show  that  came  to  town.  Viney  had  ar- 
rived upon  the  opening  of  the  doors  at  six  o'clock, 
and  the  performance  was  advertised  to  begin  at 
half-past  seven.  She  was  an  odd-looking,  albino 
sort  of  creature,  with  pinkish  eyes  and  eyelids,  pale 
flaxen  hair,  and  a  hook-nose  much  to  one  side  of 
her  face.  The  Chevalier,  entering  the  hall,  had 
caught  sight  of  her  on  his  way  to  the  rear  of  the 
stage,  and  forthwith  executed  a  sweeping  bow  that 
Viney  thought  the  perfection  of  foreign  elegance. 

When  the  hall  was  fairly  filled,  and  the  shuffling 

of  feet  announced  the  right  degree  of  impatience 

on  the  part  of  the  audience,  the  curtain,  pulled  up 

by  the  performer  himself,  rose  upon  a  stage  empty 

7 


74  BELHAVEN  TALES 

save  for  a  small  pine  table  displaying  a  white  china 
water-pitcher  and  a  goblet.  M.  Alcibiade,  wearing 
a  suit  of  rusty  black,  with  a  scarlet  satin  stock 
and  white  kid  gloves,  an  order  in  his  button-hole, 
his  hair  fiercely  ruffled,  and  his  eyes  gleaming  at 
some  foe  unknown,  holding  a  dinner-knife  in  his 
clenched  hand,  stalked  on  the  scene.  At  this  alarm- 
ing apparition  a  little  girl  sitting  by  her  mama  burst 
into  tears,  and  had  to  be  consoled  with  gum-drops 
from  the  parental  pocket,  interspersed  with  audi- 
ble assurances  that  the  gentleman  meant  no  harm. 
Opening  his  lips,  Alcibiade  poured  forth  a  cataract 
of  words,  of  which  the  most  advanced  French  schol- 
ars in  Miss  Meechin's  senior  class  could  make  neither 
head  nor  tail.  He  raved,  he  roared,  he  ranted ;  then, 
seizing  a  goblet  from  the  table,  he  half  filled  it  witli 
water,  and,  holding  the  dagger  in  his  other  hand, 
advanced  to  the  footlights  calling  on  Heaven  to  end 
his  woes.  At  last,  drinking  the  contents  of  the  poi- 
soned cup,  he  threw  away  the  dinner-knife,  and  fell 
with  a  gurgling  groan  and  a  crash  that  made  the 
lamps  rattle  in  the  chandelier.  This,  by  agreement 
with  Mrs.  Dibble,  was  the  signal  for  that  worthy 
lady  to  hurry  behind  the  scenes  and  let  fall  the  cur- 
tain on  the  direful  sight ;  but  she,  unfortunately, 
stood  like  a  stock,  averring  afterward  that  her  blood 
was  that  cruddled  with  awr  she  could  n't  'a'  budged 
a  mite  !  Next,  M.  Alcibiade,  coming  slowly  back  to 
life,  sat  up  to  confront  the  audience  with  a  smile  of 
absolute  fatuity,  then,  scrambling  to  his  feet,  bowed, 
kissed  his  hand,  and,  going  off,  let  the  green  baize 
descend  on  act  the  first. 


BELHAVEN  TALES  75 

It  was  long  since  Belhaven  liad  enjoyed  such  a 
merry  spectacle.  The  school-girls  leading  off  with 
infectious  giggles,  every  bench  caught  the  conta- 
gion, and  only  Viney  Piper,  mopping  real  tears  from 
her  eyes,  announced  herself  a  connoisseur  of  true  art. 

The  rest  of  the  programme,  although  less  explo- 
sive, met  with  hysterically  suppressed  mirth.  Before 
its  close,  indeed,  the  audience  had  filtered  slowly 
from  the  hall,  leaving  only  the  faithful  Viney  and 
Mrs.  Dibble,  the  newspaper-carrier  (who  was  stone- 
deaf),  a  scrub-woman  with  her  baby  in  arms,  and  a 
few  citizens  who  exacted  their  money's  worth. 

It  was  evident  that  provincial  taste  had  not  been 
educated  to  the  dramatic  standard  of  old  Mr.  Peters's 
grandson.  Alcibiade,  failing  in  other  occupations, 
sank  from  poverty  to  want.  One  day  when  Miss 
Viney  Piper,  arriving  at  the  Berkeley  house  in 
Princess  Royal  street,  had  established  herself  in  the 
sewing-room,  the  ladies  in  submissive  attitudes  be- 
fore her,  the  little  dressmaker  could  hardly  wait  to 
dispose  of  business  before  introducing  the  subject 
near  her  heart. 

^' Just  keep  on  running  up  them  skirt-widths,  Miss 
Gay;  an'  Miss  Penelope,  ma'am,  you  could  be  goffer- 
in'  that  sleeve  while  I  get  the  body  ready  to  try  on," 
she  said,  marshaling  her  forces  like  a  general  in 
command.  "  Did  you  hear  the  news  —  that  old  Mr. 
Peters's  grandson  ain't  expected  to  live  the  day  out  ? 
Fairly  starved,  I  reckon,  'fore  he  'd  let  Mrs.  Dibble 
know,  an'  he  sleepin'  in  a  hole  of  an  attic  at  the 
Drovers'  Hotel  —  kinder  low  fever,  nothin'  catchin', 
the  doctor  says,  but  nothin'  to  bring  him  up  again. 


76  BELHAVEN  TALES 

Such  a  beautiful  genius  he  is,  ma'am,  an'  a  temper 
like  a  child,  for  all  he  looks  so  fierce." 

''  Starving !  What  do  you  mean,  Viney  ! "  said 
Miss  Penelope,  excitedly.  "Go,  Gay,  fetch  me  my 
bonnet  and  mantilla,  and  help  Susan  to  pack  a  bas- 
ket with  some  things.  How  comes  it  that  nobody 
knew?" 

"It  's  all  right  for  the  present.  Miss  Penelope, 
ma'am,"  said  Viney,  blushing.  "  That 's  what  's  kep' 
me  a  little  late  this  mornin'.  I  took  up  a  few  trifles, 
an'  Mrs.  Dibble  she  's  got  somebody  to  mind  the 
store,  and  is  to  stay  with  him  all  day.  But  if  you  'd 
let  Peggy  put  on  a  chicken  to  boil  down  for  jelly,  it 
would  n't  be  wasted,  even  if  — "  here  she  swallowed 
once  or  twice  and  stabbed  her  pincushion  —  "if  the 
pore  Mounseer  can't  make  no  use  of  it." 

The  "  pore  Mounseer,"  however,  surviving  the  day 
under  Mrs.  Dibble's  kindly  care,  and  finding  no  lack 
of  nourishment  during  the  days  that  followed,  was, 
with  the  assistance  of  a  subscription  among  some 
charitable  people,  transferred  in  the  course  of  a  week 
to  a  spare  room  let  to  single  gentlemen  by  Mrs.  Pi- 
per, Viney's  mother,  which  by  happy  accident  had 
been  recently  vacated. 

The  Pipers  lived  in  one  of  the  smaU  frame-houses 
built  to  open  directly  upon  the  moss-encircled  bricks 
set  diagonally  in  the  ancient  sidewalk  of  a  mod- 
est street.  The  door-stone  of  white  marble  was  ac- 
counted in  the  neighborhood  a  badge  of  distinguish- 
ing elegance,  as  was  also  a  small  brass  oval  serving 
as  a  bell-pull,  when  most  people  used  knockers,  or 
"knuckles,"  the  gossips  would  aver.     The  late  Mr. 


BELHAVEN  TALES  77 

Piper  had  been  a  seafaring  man,  and  liad  risen  to 
be  first  mate  of  the  brig  Polly  and  Nancy,  when,  on 
a  return  voyage  from  Cadiz  with  a  cargo  of  fruit, 
salt,  and  wines  bound  for  Belbaven  port,  he  was 
swept  overboard  in  a  hurricane  and  lost. 

The  best  room  of  the  little  house  into  which  one 
stepped  out  of  the  street  direct,  was  a  sort  of  ma- 
rine museum  like  a  chill  grotto,  suggesting  a  mer- 
maid's clutch  or  the  grip  of  shark's  teeth.  Here 
Mrs.  Piper  did  not  care  to  raise  the  shades,  except 
at  one  side  window  permanently  darkened  by  a  trel- 
lis overgrown  with  a  vine  of  the  Isabella  grape.  The 
children  of  Miss  Viney's  customers  liked  to  be  sent 
to  make  appointments  with  that  busy  little  body; 
for  Mrs.  Piper,  too  deaf  to  answer  questions,  and 
droning  her  explanations  in  a  sing-song  voice,  al- 
ways showed  them  arou*nd  the  museum  with  great 
affability.  The  old  woman  usually  sat  in  a  clean 
kitchen  opening  upon  the  back  yard,  where,  under 
the  damson-trees  and  amid  the  hundred-leaf  rose- 
bushes, were  constructed  little  winding  walks,  edged 
with  shells,  and  leading  up  to  seats  made  of  a 
whale's  backbone. 

After  the  Chevalier  de  St.  Pierre  had  succeeded 
in  obtaining  classes  in  dancing  and  deportment  that 
enabled  him  to  live,  and  had  settled  down  to  become 
a  fixture  in  the  widow's  house,  his  spare  moments 
were  given  to  cultivating  flowers  in  the  beds  be- 
tween the  shell-bordered  walks.  Everything  grows 
easily  in  soft  Belhaven  air,  and  soon  the  Pipers'  gar- 
den became  a  proverb  in  the  place.  Mrs.  Piper's 
only  complaint  against  her  lodger  was  couched  in 


78  BELHAVEN  TALES 

the  expressive  phrase,  "The  Lord  knows  how  often 
he  empties  his  water-jug";  but  even  a  distaste  for 
ablution  yielded  in  time  to  the  insistent  cleanliness 
of  his  surroundings.  Sometimes,  to  cheer  "  Madame 
Pipere"  in  her  solitude,  Alcibiade  would  descend  to 
the  kitchen  and  proffer  to  the  old  woman,  knitting  in 
her  sunny  window-seat.  "  a  leetle  divertissement  from 
ze  classique  drama  of  La  France."  He  had  a  vrai  in- 
spiration for  the  stage,  St.  Pierre  confessed  to  Viuey, 
and  but  for  political  intrigue  would  be  now  in  his 
rightful  place  on  the  boards  of  the  Theatre  Fran^ais. 
These  exhibitions,  repeating  the  celebrated  perform- 
ance of  his  debut  at  Lafayette  Hall,  were  as  deeply 
and  religiously  admired  by  the  widow  as  by  her 
daughter. 

One  day  occurred  a  variant  upon  the  usual  exer- 
cise. Alcibiade  had  always  treated  poor  lank  Viney 
as  if  she  were  one  of  the  great  ladies  of  the  court  in 
bondage  to  his  ancestor's  curling-tongs  ;  but  she  was 
unprepared  for  the  scene  that  greeted  her  return 
when,  having  stepped  down  to  Slater's  for  a  spool 
of  "forty"  cotton,  she  found  the  Chevalier  in  his 
best  black  suit,  wearing  white  kid  gloves,  and  hold- 
ing a  bouquet  in  one  hand,  kneeling  at  Mrs.  Piper's 
feet  and  kissing  her  finger-tips  with  reverence. 

"■  I  ask  you,  madarae,  for  the  hand  of  your  beau- 
tiful and  admirable  child  in  marriage,"  was  what 
Viney  and  the  whole  neighborhood  within  ear-shot 
heard  him  roar. 

Viney,  with  all  her  good  qualities,  was  a  bit  of  a 
virago.  The  absurdity  of  the  proceeding,  and  the 
sense  that  her  adjacent  acquaintances  were  laughing 


BELHAVEN  TALES  79 

at  her  affairs,  flooded  her  thin  skin  with  blushes,  and 
her  soul  with  auger.  While  Mrs.  Piper,  scared  out 
of  her  wits,  was  about  to  open  her  lips  for  a  feeble 
screech,  Viuey  whisked  into  the  kitchen,  snatched 
Alcibiade's  bouquet,  threw  it  away  into  a  parsley- 
bed,  and  boxed  the  professor's  ears. 

"You  'd  better  believe  I  give  'im  a  piece  of  my 
mind,"  she  narrated  afterward  to  Miss  Penelope  and 
Gay.  "  But,  bless  you,  he  cried  so  pitiful,  an'  begged 
our  pardons  so  kind  o'  honorable,  I  had  not  the  heart 
to  turn  him  out  o'  the  house  like  I  threatened  to. 
Them  white  kids.  Miss  Gay!  An'  at  his  age,  an' 
mine !  The  notion  's  too  cryin'  ridic'lous."  And  she 
snapped  a  seam  into  the  beak  of  her  sewing-bird  with 
vicious  emphasis,  giving  at  the  same  time  a  sidelong 
glance  into  the  mirror,  and  a  complacent  toss  of  the 
head. 

No  one  could  be  long  in  the  Chevalier's  company 
without  discovering  that  a  very  dove  of  gentleness 
and  affectionate  gratitude  dwelt  in  his  gaunt  envelop 
of  flesh.  So,  restraining  his  pretensions  as  a  lover, 
he  meekly  accepted  Miss  Viney's  fiat,  and  went  about 
the  town  looking  as  warlike  as  ever,  but  inwardly 
carrying  a  broken  spirit.  One  of  his  dancing-class  en- 
countered him  crossing  a  windy  common  in  the  sub- 
urbs of  the  town  pursued  by  a  flock  of  geese,  from 
whose  sibilant  obloquy  he  was  making  nervous  ef- 
forts to  escape ;  and  it  was  known  to  the  boys  and 
girls  that  the  Chevalier  was  always  alarmed  by  the 
apparition  of  a  spider  or  a  cow.  No  wonder  the 
young  people  decided  that  Alcibiade  had  been  re- 
duced to  pulp  by  Miss  Viney's  vigorous  rejection  of 


80  BELHAVEN  TALES 

his  suit.  The  little  dressmaker's  peppery  temper  was 
familiar  to  the  offspring  of  her  customers,  from 
whom  she  would  stand  no  trifling  around  her  tempo- 
rary throne  in  their  respective  households. 

When  the  war  between  the  States  broke  out,  Viney 
seemed  to  have  found  her  destined  vocation  as  a  red- 
hot  secessionist.  Not  very  clear,  fundamentally,  as 
to  what  she  resented  on  the  part  of  tlie  national  au- 
thorities at  the  other  end  of  the  Long  Bridge,  some 
eight  miles  away,  she  threw  out  her  rebel  banner  on 
the  wall,  sang  "  Dixie  "  in  her  shrill  treble,  declaimed, 
protested,  and,  in  short,  kept  everybody  in  her  vicin- 
ity in  a  boiling  state  of  excitement  about  the  condi- 
tion of  political  affairs.  When  the  Belhaven  regi- 
ments went  on  to  Richmond  or  Manassas,  Viney 
stitched  her  fingers  to  the  bone  making  shirts  for 
them,  while  Mrs.  Piper  knit  socks  of  gray  wool  as 
fast  as  her  needles  could  fly.  They  also  turned  out 
a  number  of  the  white  linen  havelocks  and  gaiters 
adopted  by  one  of  the  companies  and  afterward  dis- 
carded as  a  too  shining  mark  for  opposing  riflemen. 
Viney  trotted  to  the  train  to  see  the  boys  go  off,  and 
stood  there  in  the  crowd,  cheering  and  waving  with 
the  best.  As  she  watched  the  last  car  recede  on  two 
gleaming  lines  of  iron,  its  rear  platform  thronged 
with  gesticulating  shapes  in  gray,  she  felt  her  heart 
inflate  and  her  stature  grow  with  a  yearning  desu-e 
to  go  out  and  fight,  or  do  something  helpful  in  their 
ranks. 

When  she  turned  to  walk  home  that  afternoon 
of  balmy  spring,  there,  haunting  her  footsteps,  was 
the  faithful  Alcibiade.     He  looked  into  her  watery 


BELHAVEN  TALES  81 

blue  eyes  as  if  imploring-  to  be  allowed  to  speak  his 
sympathy. 

"Have  it  out,  an'  be  done  with  it,  for  gracious 
sake,"  said  Viney,  pettishly.  His  smooth-finished 
black  coat,  his  waxed  mustache,  the  bunch  of  jon- 
quils in  his  buttonhole,  fretted  her  beyond  endurance. 

"Those  tears  for  the  brave  they  are  a  benison," 
said  Alcibiade,  sentimentally.  "Who  would  not  be 
inspired  by  them  to  deeds  of  glory  1 " 

"It  's  not  the  boys  I  'm  eryin'  for,"  said  Viney. 
"  It 's  us  that  are  left  behind  and  have  got  to  put  our 
necks  under  the  vandal's  heel,"  That  "vandal"  af- 
forded a  famous  outlet  for  secession  wrath  in  those 
days ;  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the  war  could  have 
been  carried  on  without  him.  "  Oh  !  if  't  worn't  for 
mother,  d'  ye  think  I  'd  stay  ?  I  'd  go  to-morrow,  an' 
carry  a  water-pail  to  fill  canteens ;  or  I  'd  nurse  in 
hospitals — or  anything." 

"  It  is  a  noble,  a  sacred  cause,"  replied  the  Cheva- 
lier, looking  down  at  the  toe  of  his  varnished  boot  to 
avoid  the  needle-point  of  her  eye.  "  You  will  permit 
me,  cJiere  Mees  Viney,  to  mingle  with  yours  my 
prayers  for  its  success?  When  I  think  that  this  Vir- 
ginia that  has  sheltered  two  exiles  of  our  house  — 
my  ancestor,  who  came  here  to  find  a  home,  a  bride, 
a  thousand  friends,  a  thousand  tendernesses;  and 
me,  less  fortunate,  but  ever  grateful  for  the  hour  that 
brought  you,  an  angel  of  goodness,  to  my  rescue  in 
distress — " 

"  That 's  neither  here  nor  there,"  interrupted  Viney, 
cruelly.  "Besides,  it  was  as  much  Mrs.  Dibble  as 
me,  anyway." 


82  BELHAVEN  TALES 

"  But  you  will  not  deny  me  the  privilege  of  sharing 
your  patriotic  anxiety  for  the  welfare  of  the  troops  ? 
You  will  allow  my  heart  to  beat  in  unison  with 
yours  ? " 

^'Nobody  ain't  a-preventin'  your  heart  doin'  what 
it  pleases,"  said  the  uncompromising  lady  of  his  love, 
now  fairly  out  of  patience  with  his  phrasing.  '•  But 
it 's  deeds,  not  words,  that  show  what  a  man  's  worth 
nowadays.  When  I  think  what  a  fool  I  used  to  be 
'bout  fine  talk  in',  an'  how  I  believed  if  a  feller  spread 
himself  in  speechifyin'  he  was  boun'  to  be  a  hero,  it 
makes  me  fairh^  sick.  I  'd  rather  have  the  little  finger 
o'  one  o'  them  privates  that  's  in  the  train  we  hear 
whistlin'  up  yonder — bless  their  souls! — than  the 
whole  body  of  a  dandy  Jim  that  stays  at  home. 
But,  law  me  !  I  'm  foolish  talkin'  such  stuff  to  youJ'' 

Foolish  and  manifestly  unjust,  we  will  agree  with 
her ;  but  Viney's  seed  was  not  sown  upon  barren  soil, 
as  we  shall  see.  From  that  date  the  Chevalier's  mus- 
taches lost  their  jaunty  curl,  his  eye  its  martial  fire. 
The  dancing-school  declining  with  the  growth  of 
military  rule  in  town,  his  occupation  was  chiefly 
to  walk  along  the  streets  picking  up  such  rumors 
and  crumbs  of  gossip  about  the  movements  of 
either  army  as  might  bring  a  spark  of  interest 
into  the  orbs  of  Miss  Viney  on  his  return  to  the 
widow's  house. 

The  days  of  June  wore  on,  and  Viney's  temper, 
taxed  by  anxiety  about  the  issue  of  the  approach- 
ing battle,  became  more  tart,  her  taunts  more  fre- 
quent; but  the  Chevalier  suddenly  seemed  to  take 
heart  and  to  walk  with  a  firmer  tread.     One  night 


BELHAVEN  TALES  83 

he  did  not  return  to  sleep  in  his  tidy  bedroom,  and 
Viney,  going  into  it,  found  a  letter  addressed  to 
herself  upon  the  table. 

Adieu,  my  benefactress,  beautiful  inspiration  of  my  unworthy 
life  [the  Chevalier  had  written],  I  fly  to  win  the  approval  of 
your  noble  tears  or  to  sleep  eternally  upon  the  soldier's  bloody 
couch.  To  you,  in  this  supreme  moment,  I  dare  avow  a  truth 
for  which  my  manhood  does  not  blush  —  that  I  have,  imtil  now, 
held  back  because  of  a  weakness  of  temperament  that  made 
my  soul  blanch  at  thought  of  the  soldier's  baptism  of  fire. 
Now  that  the  struggle  is  over,  I  am  resolved  to  ally  myself  with 
the  armies  of  the  South  that  has  given  me  a  shelter,  and  given 
me  you,  adored  one,  whose  hand  I  embrace  in  spirit,  with  that 
of  your  respected  mother ;  to  whom,  and  to  you,  the  salutations 
the  most  distinguished  of  your  all-devoted  Alcibiade. 

"  The  land  o'  Dixie  !  "  cried  out  Miss  Viney.  "  If 
that  pore  creeter  's  in  earnest,  I  '11  never  draw  a  free 
breath  till  he  gets  back." 

M.  Alcibiade  was  very  much  in  earnest.  A  few 
days  later  Miss  Viney  had  a  visit  from  a  lawyer 
who  informed  her  that  the  Frenchman,  before  go- 
ing through  the  lines  to  enlist  in  the  Southern 
army,  had  caused  to  be  drawn  up  a  will  bequeath- 
ing to  her  some  hundreds  of  dollars  which  by  fru- 
gality and  care  he  had  saved  during  his  residence 
beneath  their  roof.  Viney  had  an  honest  crying- 
fit  after  the  lawyer  left,  and,  putting  on  her  bon- 
net, sped  down  to  Princess  Royal  street  to  take 
counsel  with  the  Misses  Berkeley  as  to  the  best 
way  of  tracing  the  absent  one  and  conveying  to 
him  some  token  of  her  appreciation  and  regard. 
Those  ladies  could  give  her  little  hope.     They  prom- 


84  BELHAVEN  TALES 

ised,  however,  to  write  recommending  Alcibiade  to 
the  care  and  kind  offices  of  their  friends  in  Bel- 
haven  regiments,  should  the  Frenchman  find  his 
way  among  his  old  acquaintances  and  pupils;  and 
with  this  Viney  was  forced  to  be  content. 

After  Bull  Run,  Manassas ;  and  after  Manassas, 
a  breathing-space  in  which  North  and  South  held 
themselves  in  check,  dreading  to  pierce  the  veil 
shadowing  the  future  of  the  confiict.  In  the  dusk 
of  a  warm  summer  evening,  when  Viney  had  car- 
ried out  a  bucket  of  fresh  water  with  which  to 
drench  and  cool  the  already  clean  bit  of  pavement 
appertaining  to  their  front  door,  a  country  wagon 
with  a  hooded  canopy  of  canvas,  drawn  by  mules 
and  driven  by  a  long-legged  rustic  in  a  linen  duster, 
wearing  a  broad  straw  hat,  pulled  up  beside  the  curb. 
Inside  was  heard  the  cackle  of  resentful  fowls.  The 
driver,  carrying  a  basket  of  eggs,  leaned  over  and 
accosted  her : 

"No;  I  don't  want  anything  to-day,  I  'm  'bUged  to 
ye,"  began  Viney  —  and  broke  down  with  a  gasp. 
"Good  Lord!     It  's  you,  Mounseer?" 

"It  is,  charming  Mees  Viney,"  said  the  pretended 
farmer,  with  a  warm  grasp  of  her  hand.  "  Hush ! 
Not  a  word  that  the  neighbors  can  overhear.-' 

"  But  I  don't  understand ;  you  are  not  in  the  army, 
after  all  ? " 

"  There  are  ways  and  ways  of  being  a  soldier,"  he 
went  on  in  a  low  whisper.  "  Believe  me  when  i  tell 
you  I  have  kept  my  word.  Take  a  few  of  these  eggs 
and  count  them  into  a  dish  or  basket  —  yes,  your 
apron  will  do  —  that  I  may  go  on  talking  without 


BELHAVEN  TALES  85 

fear.  Then  I  will  find  it  troublesome  to  git  you 
change." 

"  But  where  in  the  land  did  you  come  from  ? "  she 
asked,  burning  with  curiosity. 

"Mafoi,  from  a  Union  camp  to-day,  where  the  sol- 
diers have  left  me  little  to  sell  to  you,  belle  dame. 
To-morrow  at  daybreak  —  for  I  shall  find  fresh  mules 
outside  the  town  —  I  present  myself  to  a  general 
whom  a  Frenchman  is  proud  to  serve  —  ze  peerless 
Beauregard." 

"  You  are  —  you  are  —  a  sp  —  "  she  began,  her  face 
blanched,  her  teeth  chattering. 

"Never  mind  what  I  am;  let  me  but  look  once 
njore  upon  that  face  of  which  I  so  often  dream,  and 
then  I  must  hasten  away." 

"•  Oh,  go,  go ! "  she  pleaded.  "  It  was  perfect 
madness  for  you  to  come  here.  Not  ten  minutes 
ago  a  patrol  of  Yankee  soldiers  walked  down  this 
street. " 

"  Bah!"  he  said,  with  a  shrug,  "  have  I  not  enjoyed 
the  company  of  their  compatriots  all  day  1  But  for 
your  sake  I  will  go.  Have  no  fear,  belle  Viney ;  you 
will  hear  from  me  again." 

Was  this  the  timid,  the  cringing  Alcibiade  ?  Viney 
asked  herself  all  through  a  sleepless  night.  Many 
and  many  a  night  thereafter  she  was  destined  to 
toss  and  wonder  as  to  his  fate.  In  the  autumn  she 
had  a  line  from  him,  left  by  a  wood-seller  from  far 
up  in  the  interior  of  the  county ;  he  was  safe  and 
well,  and  still  in  the  service  of  the  employer  who  re- 
tained him  when  he  had  seen  her  last;  and  he  was 
always  her  devoted  and  faithful  A.  de  St.  P. 


86  BELHAVEN  TALES 

After  that  a  blank  of  long  years  extending  to  the 
close  of  the  dreadful  war. 

Viney  had  given  him  up  for  dead,  of  course ;  had 
put  on  mourning  and  made  her  mother  do  the  same ; 
and  everybody  said  how  strange  it  was  that  Viney 
Piper  should  make  all  that  fuss  about  a  man  that 
just  walked  out  of  her  house  one  day  and  gave  her 
the  *'  go-by  "  without  a  word.  She  could  never  per- 
suade herself  to  touch  a  penny  of  his  bequest ;  but 
had  consulted  her  confidante,  Miss  Penelope,  about 
the  propriety  of  using  it  for  a  fine  monument  to  be 
erected  to  his  memory  in  the  Belhaven  graveyard, 
when  the  correspondent  of  a  New  York  paper,  mous- 
ing around  the  old  Virginian  town  for  material,  an- 
nounced to  the  public  that  he  had  discovered  the 
identity  of  the  famous  and  daring  rebel  scout,  Peters, 
who,  after  countless  adventures,  and  escaping  the 
noose  a  dozen  times  by  a  miracle,  had  disappeared 
from  sight.  This  dashing  character,  it  was  confi- 
dently stated,  was  none  other  than  a  so-called  French 
dancing-master,  known  at  the  time  as  St.  Pierre,  who 
had  lived  in  Belhaven  pursuing  his  harmless  occupa- 
tion for  some  years  prior  to  the  war. 

In  the  comments  of  the  press  upon  this  announce- 
ment more  than  one  reminiscence  of  Peters  was  soon 
given  currency;  and  presently  the  editor  of  a  journal 
in  an  obscure  western  town  wrote  to  the  New  York 
paper  that  Peters,  alias  St.  Pierre,  alias  no-one-knew- 
what  beside,  was  then  actually  residing  in  the  family 
of  a  charitable  Frenchman  of  his  locality,  having  sur- 
vived a  wound  and  an  imprisonment  that  had  left 
him  helpless  upon  his  benefactor's  hands. 


BELHAVEN  TALES  87 

When  this  was  published  Viney's  friends  saw  the 
little  woman  smile.  Then  she  cried,  then  she  fell 
down  on  her  knees  and  thanked  God  for  his  mercy, 
and  lastly  she  packed  her  little  trunk  and  set  off  for 
Illinois. 

"  You  have  come  to  me,  and  I  was  too  proud  to 
bring  the  remains  of  me  to  you,  helle  Viney ! "  said 
Alcibiade,  when  she  arrived.  "It  is  enough  for  me 
to  see  you,  to  forget  that  dungeon  where  I  laid  so 
long." 

Poor  little,  homely  Viney  was  utterly  overcome. 
She  took  his  thin  hand,  with  the  claw-like  fingers, 
and,  stooping  down,  kissed  it  and  cried  over  it. 

"  Lord,  lay  not  this  sin  to  my  door !  "  she  said,  gaz- 
ing on  the  wreck  before  her  with  a  sudden,  bitter 
self-reproach.  "  O  Mounseer,  tell  me  that  you  for- 
give me  for  what  I  drove  you  to,  for  I  '11  never  for- 
give myself." 

"Listen  to  me,  Mees  Viney,"  the  Frenchman  said, 
looking  about  him  anxiously  to  see  that  no  one  over- 
heard. "You  have  done  for  me  what  a  thousand 
times,  in  peril  of  my  neck,  in  cold,  in  hunger,  in  a 
prison  cell,  I  have  thanked  you  for — you  have  made 
of  me  a  man  !     Bon  Dieu,  a  man  ! " 

Viney  brought  him  back  to  the  little  chamber  be- 
neath the  roof  of  Mrs.  Piper's  house,  where  the  two 
women  nursed  him  into  comparative  comfort;  health 
he  might  never  fully  know  again.  In  summer-time, 
his  chair  rolled  out  upon  one  of  the  shell-bordered 
walks,  he  would  remain  gazing  in  absolute  content 
upon  Viney  sitting  on  the  door-step  with  her  work. 


88  BELHAVEN   TALES 

In  his  eyes  she  was  always  beautiful ;  and  when,  with 
many  misgivings,  she  one  day  consented  to  let  Dr. 
Falconer,  with  Aunt  Penelope  and  Gay  as  witnesses, 
step  into  the  grotto  of  marine  curiosities  and  make 
her  Madame  Alcibiade,  the  ex-spy  straightened  up 
with  something  of  his  old  dancing-master's  grace. 

"  Tiens !    I  have  won  the  flower  of  womanhood,"  he 
said.    And  so  he  thought  to  the  last. 


IV 


GAY'S  ROMANCE 


I  HEN  Gay  Berkeley,  a  bright-eyed 
girl  in  quaint  made-over  frocks, 
took  her  walks  abroad  with  Great- 
Aunt  Penelope,  who  was  arrayed 
in  a  large  bonnet  with  tulle  ear- 
tabs  and  a  shawl  of  China  crape 
trailing  limp  over  a  black  silk  gown,  she  used  to  think 
there  could  be  no  spot  on  earth  in  which  so  many 
interesting  things  had  happened,  and  so  many  in- 
teresting people  had  lived,  as  in  old  Belhaven.  Every 
house,  street,  paving-stone,  evoked  from  the  maiden 
aunt's  unfailing  repertoire  a  reminiscence.  When 
Miss  Pen  met  on  the  sidewalk  some  other  large-bon- 
neted lady,  they  talked  together  of  mysterious  has 
beens ;  and,  before  they  parted,  the  lady  would  gen- 
erally take  the  girl's  chin  in  hand  to  look  her  in  the 
face,  and  tell  Gay  that  she  was  the  image  of  her 
great-grandmother,  or  that  she  had  her  Uncle  Mar- 
maduke's  own  nose. 

8D 


90  BELHAVEN  TALES 

Gay,  who  in  those  days  looked  at  most  things 
from  a  Castle  of  Otranto  standpoint,  liked  the  ex- 
ternals of  her  birthplace,  where,  early  left  an  orphan, 
she  had  always  dwelt  under  the  care  of  her  father's 
aunts.  She  could  appreciate  the  picturesque  value  of 
its  grass-grown  thoroughfares,  bordered  with  blocks 
of  houses,  mostly  of  red  brick  faced  with  white, 
many  of  them  detached  and  set  comfortably  back  in 
brick- walled  gardens  harboring  the  sun ;  its  vener- 
able churches,  inns,  lodges,  market-places,  remain- 
ing there  to  tell  of  the  great  founders  of  the  town ; 
its  wide  area  of  surrounding  landscape,  to  which, 
from  an  eminence  beyond  the  city  limits,  visiting 
strangers  were  proudly  introduced.  From  Shoot- 
er's Hill,  looking  across  the  caterpillar  structure  of 
the  Long  Bridge,  one  saw  the  white  gleam  of  the 
Capitol  dominating  the  roofs  and  spires  of  Wash- 
ington ;  the  colonnades  of  Arlington  House ;  the 
beautiful,  broad  Potomac  as  far  as  Gunston,  Mount 
Vernon,  and  Belvoir ;  the  lovely  valley  of  Cameron  — 
all  these  enframed  in  undulating  woods.  When- 
ever Gay  heard  travelers  dilate  upon  the  Rhine,  the 
Tweed  and  the  Thames,  she  was  conscious  of  a 
bridling  desire  to  bid  them  view  the  Potomac  from 
the  top  of  Shooter's  Hill,  and  die. 

But  this  much  any  one  could  see,  and  stUl  can  see. 
More  important  in  coloring  her  ideas  was  the  daily  in- 
tercourse with  a  community  of  people  who  belonged 
to  the  semi-feudal  and  essentially  aristocratic  side  of 
early  American  society,  even  then  gliding  away  like 
the  sands  of  an  hour-glass.  Everybody  they  knew 
had  somewhere  touched  history ;  everybody  kept  tra- 


BELHAVEN   TALES  91 

ditions  rubbed  up  with  chamois  leather  and  set  side- 
wise  on  shelves.  Life  flowed  so  tranquilly.  The 
visits,  tea-drinkings,  church-goings,  benevolent  soci- 
eties, never  developed  anything  newer  than  the  re- 
current tragedies  of  birth  and  death.  Young  men 
who  grew  up  there  stretched  their  limbs,  inflated 
their  chests,  looked  away  over  at  the  far  horizon, 
and  left  the  town.  Everything  in  the  way  of  stir  or 
bustle  was  executed  with  such  genteel  deliberation 
that,  like  the  immortal  Joe  in  Pickwick,  it  fell  asleep 
in  itinere. 

But  to  a  speculative  young  person  like  Miss  Gay 
there  was  entertainment  to  be  found,  and  she  well 
knew  where  to  look  for  it.  When  not  poring  over 
the  old  books  in  the  Princess  Royal  street  house 
where  she  was  born.  Gay  studied  human  nature  in 
the  homes  of  her  aunts  friends.  By  Miss  Penelope, 
who  was  a  mine  of  genealogical  information,  she  was 
continually  fed  with  stories ;  and,  when  in  search  of 
the  concrete  forms  of  excitement,  what  better  than 
to  perch  on  the  edge  of  the  kitchen  table  where  black 
Peggy  was  rolling  out  her  dough,  and  to  elicit  the 
marvels  that  the  old  cook,  "  when  i'  the  vein,"  would 
pour  out  in  accents  as  rich  and  soft  as  oil  ? 

The  drawback  to  Peggy's  narratives  was  her  anxi- 
ety to  assert  herself  as  an  eye-witness  of  all  events. 
In  the  matter  of  Washingtoniana,  especially,  the  old 
woman,  accustomed  to  be  questioned  by  strangers  as 
to  the  minutest  recollections  cherished  by  the  town 
of  its  most  illustrious  hero,  was  very  tenacious  of 
associating  herself  in  every  scene  described. 

"  Think  of  it,  Aunt  Pegg}^,"  Gay  said  once,  when 


92  BELHAVEN  TALES 

on  a  visit  to  the  kitchen,  ''Auntie  has  been  telling 
me  that  her  grandfather  had  just  finished  building 
this  house  when  George  Washington  was  recruiting 
his  ragged  volunteers  to  march  against  the  French 
on  the  Ohio.  She  says  her  grandpapa  told  her  the 
young  lieutenant-colonel  was  a  long-legged,  gawky 
fellow,  with  big  hands,  and  so  solemn  the  Belhaven 
girls  would  run  away  from  him  whenever  he  came 
near.  But  they  sang  a  different  tune  when  he  came 
back  from  the  wars." 

"Wot  you  tellin'  me,  chile?"  quoth  Peggy,  con- 
temptuously. "  Think  I  ain't  heard  Miss  Lucindy  beg 
Miss  Sally  many  a  time  to  go  down  in  de  parlor  an' 
'ceive  Kunnel  Wash'n'ton,  'stid  uv  her?  An'  Miss 
Sally  say  as  how  she  wo  old  n'  do  no  sich  a  thing  'less 
Miss  Lucindy  promise  to  let  her  wear  dat  blue  padu'- 
soy  uv  her'n  next  Sunday  to  Christ  Church.  An'  all 
de  while  dem  gals  was  a-'sputin',  dat  poor  young  fel- 
ler was  a-coolin'  his  heels  in  de  werry  place  whar'  ole 
Miss  got  her  big  arm-cheer  in  dis  day." 

"  Why,  Aunt  Peggy,"  exclaimed  Gay,  "  that  was  in 
1754 ! "  "^ 

''  Who  said  it  worn't  ? "  queried  the  old  woman, 
testily. 

" It  would  make  you — oh!  at  least  a  hundred  and 
twelve  years  old  —  " 

"  How  's  I  gwine  to  git  my  dinnah,  like  to  know  ? " 
interrupted  Peggy.  "  Reckon  Miss  Pen  '11  come  out 
cheer  an'  riz  Richa'd  Henry  roun'  my  years  nex'  thing. 
You  Cynthy !  Hurry  an'  put  dat  crock  on  ice,  ef  you 
'spec'  to  git  de  bonnyclabber  sot  fur  tea!  Mars!  Awe, 
Mars !   Nem  o'  Gawd,  niggah,  think  fli*e  burn  'dout 


BELHAVEN  TALES  93 

wood  ?  Hain't  heerd  yo'  ax  strike  a  lick  sence  you 
chop  my  chickens'  hades  off.  You  Trip  !  String  dem 
snaps  'fo'  I  bust  yo'  cocoanut." 

In  the  sudden  whirlwind  Gay  and  her  questions 
vanished  from  the  scene. 

No  story  of  the  past  hidden  behind  Belhaven 
house-fronts  had  quite  such  power  to  charm  Gay's 
imagination  as  that  of  two  stricken  sisters  who  lived 
at  a  place  called  the  Poplars,  just  outside  the  town, 
their  sole  companion  a  slave-woman,  as  gray  and  as 
misshapen  as  a  gnome.  Once  a  week,  for  years  past, 
it  had  been  Miss  Penelope's  custom  to  walk  out  to 
the  Poplars,  attended  by  Dennis,  her  man-servant, 
carrying  a  basket  of  home-made  delicacies;  often- 
times had  Gay  begged  to  be  allowed  to  go  with  them, 
and  to  wait  outside  the  door  till  her  aunt's  visit  was 
at  an  end.  Miss  Penelope's  foot  alone  was  permitted 
to  penetrate  the  dim  hall  with  the  stately  fan-light  over 
the  front  door,  where  she  was  received  by  her  friend 
of  childhood.  Miss  Selina  Stith,  the  younger  of  the 
owners  of  the  house.  Dennis,  relieved  of  his  burden 
upon  the  steps,  was  glad  to  sneak  away  to  the  com- 
mon opposite,  where  such  cheerful  every-day  sights 
as  geese  stalking  in  a  string,  cows  grazing,  and  boys 
wading  in  little  pools,  might  restore  his  equanimity. 
Gay,  less  timorous,  liked  to  stroll  the  round  of  the 
weedy  carriageway  with  its  iron  posts  and  chains, 
shut  off  from  the  street  by  a  high  brick  wall,  and  to 
gaze  up  at  the  rows  of  windows  like  dead  eyes,  at  the 
chimneys  whence  arose  so  little  smoke,  at  the  dreary 
ivy  that  had  overlapped  and  strangled  every  outlet  of 
the  melancholy  house.     When  Aunt  Penelope  came 


94  BELHAVEN  TALES 

out,  it  was  always  with  reddened  eyelids,  and  a  cloud 
upon  her  usually  smiling  face. 

"  No  better,  Aunt  Pen  ? "  Gay  would  ask. 

"  No  better,  my  dear  child,  and  never  will  be  this 
side  the  grave,  poor  thing,"  the  good  lady  would 
reply. 

It  had  been  full  twenty  years  since  any  one  out- 
side had  seen  the  elder  of  the  Misses  Stith.  More 
familiar  to  neighborhood  eyes  was  Miss  Selina,  who 
sometimes,  in  the  dusk  of  warm  evenings,  came  out 
of  the  decaying  mansion  to  wander  wraith-like  in 
the  streets.  The  children  of  the  mechanics  who  lived 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  town  were  accustomed  to  the 
apparition,  and,  when  she  passed  them  at  their  play, 
gazed  curiously  after  but  did  not  follow  the  queer 
little  figure  in  the  garb  of  fifty  years  before — an 
^'umbrella"  frock  with  leg-o'-mutton  sleeves,  and  a 
poke-bonnet  draped  with  a  veil  of  sprigged  black 
lace. 

Now  and  then  she  would  pause  beside  some  group 
at  play,  and  two  eyebeams  of  softest  blue  would  pene- 
trate the  meshes  of  her  veil  and  rest  quietly  on  the 
little  ones.  Sometimes  she  produced  from  her  reti- 
cule odd  toys  of  an  unfamiliar  pattern,  and  silently 
laid  them  in  the  lap  of  some  baby  in  a  pet  or  neg- 
lected by  its  mates.  But  she  never  spoke,  and  as 
darkness  closed  would  melt  into  the  shadows  of  the 
night. 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  Miss  Selina  face  to  face,"  sighed 
Gay,  one  morning,  when  returning  with  Aunt  Penel- 
ope from  the  customary  pilgrimage.  "Major  Gar- 
nett  told  me  she  was  the  prettiest  girl  that  ever  grew 


BELHAVEN   TALES  95 

up  in  Belhaven.  He  says  when  he  was  a  lad,  and 
used  to  look  up  into  the  organ-loft  of  Christ  Church 
and  see  her  singing,  all  in  white,  he  called  her  St. 
Cecilia." 

''  Yes,  my  dear ;  a  beauty  she  was,  and  so  gay  and 
merry — her  paintings  on  rice-paper  universally  ad- 
mired—  and  such  a  finger  for  the  harp  !  It  is  one  of 
the  mysteries  of  an  inscrutable  Providence  why  she 
should  have  followed  Celestia  and  become  —  ahem  — 
deranged." 

''And,  O  Auntie,  Peggy  says  the  curse  upon  the 
Stiths  may  one  day  be  removed  by  a  secret  you  know 
of,  but  that  I  am  not  to  be  told.  And  I  think,  con- 
sidering I  "m  well  past  fifteen — do  be  a  dear,  and 
tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  Peggy  should  certainly  be  checked,"  began  Aunt 
Pen,  with  a  rather  guilty  blush,  remembering  a  noc- 
turnal gossip  of  her  own  with  the  old  woman  not 
many  days  before. 

"  If  I  could  only  go  inside  the  Poplars  once,'''  pur- 
sued Gay,  plaintively.  "  Think  of  aching  all  one's 
life  to  get  behind  a  door !  " 

"  Don't  think  of  it,  child.  It  is  too  sad  for  words. 
There  is  nothing  for  you  to  see,"  replied  Miss  Pen, 
with  so  woebegone  a  face  that  Gay  dared  not  persist. 

Everybody  knew  the  old  story  of  the  Stiths.  Just 
before  the  American  revolt  against  the  crown,  there 
had  arrived  to  settle  in  Belhaven  the  younger  son  of 
an  English  family,  a  man  handsome,  winning,  and 
possessed  of  sufficient  fortune  to  make  people  specu- 
late as  to  why  he  came.  Oxford-bred,  and  carrying 
good  credentials,  he,  however,  speedily  made  for  him- 


96  BELHAVEN  TALES 

self  a  place  in  the  affections  of  the  town,  and  married 
a  beantiful  heiress  who  was  the  toast  of  the  country- 
side. Of  the  cause  impelling  Mr.  Theophilus  Stith's 
emigration  to  the  New  World,  tradition  said  that  it 
was  a  last  effort  to  break  the  spell  of  a  curse  trans- 
mitted through  several  generations  of  his  ancestors 
to  the  younger  son  of  his  family.  Long  ago,  the 
English  legend  ran,  there  had  been  of  this  line  a  dar- 
ing youngster,  who  in  a  fit  of  bravado  pulled  down  a 
ruined  chapel  upon  his  estate  and  built  with  its  stones 
a  banquet-hall,  in  which,  wine-cup  in  hand,  he  had 
been  struck  dead  while  reveling.  Since  then,  no 
younger  son  born  to  the  house  of  Stith  had  pros- 
pered. Belhaven  doubters,  and  there  were  not  a  few 
to  greet  this  myth  with  mocking,  had  in  time  to  wit- 
ness the  dark  close  of  a  career  begun  among  them 
under  brightest  auspices.  Let  Miss  Penelope  take  up 
the  tale  as  Gay  heard  it  in  her  youth. 

"  Yes,  my  love  ;  Mrs.  Theophilus  was  the  envy  of 
the  place.  Her  husband  built  and  fitted  up  for  her 
the  Poplars,  then  well  out  of  town  ;  all  the  furniture 
came  from  England,  together  with  a  handsome  new 
chariot  to  which  she  drove  'four'  along  the  Rolling 
Road  and  elsewhere.  For  a  while  she  was  as  happy 
as  a  queen.  Children  came  very  fast,  and  every  cor- 
ner of  the  house  was  full  of  young  faces  and  voices — 
ten  children  had  Mrs.  Stith.  Selina,  my  contempo- 
rary, was  the  youngest  of  the  flock." 

"Well,  Auntie?" 

"  Oh,  they  had  trouble  ;  his  habits  were  not  good, 
I  've  heard.  One  day  his  horse  came  home  to  the 
Poplars  without  its  master ;  they  picked  up  Mr.  Stith 
stone-dead,  and  his  wife's  death  followed  shortly." 


BELHAVEN  TALES  97 

"And  then,  Auntie?" 

"My  dear  Gay,  you  know  it  is  one  long  tragedy. 
Every  member  but  two  of  that  gifted  and  promising 
household  came  to  a  sudden  or  tragic  end." 

"  It  is  like  one  of  the  cycles  of  Greek  plays,  where 
whole  families  are  swept  away  by  death,  that  Dr. 
Falconer  read  me  about  in  our  lesson  yesterday," 
said  Gay. 

"  On  poor  Celestia,  who  with  her  sister  alone  sur- 
vived, fell  the  burden ;  for  she  had  been  the  little 
mother  of  the  rest.  She  and  Selina  had  their  young- 
est brother  Richard's  only  son  to  bring  up,  a  hand- 
some, wilful  boy,  called  Llewellyn.  Celestia  was  al- 
ways a  reserved,  self-centered  nature,  but  in  her  way 
she  loved  Llew  dearly,  while  Selina  lavished  on  him 
her  full,  warm  heart.  The  lad  had  entered  the  uni- 
versity, and  was  doing  well,  when  a  dispute  arose 
between  him  and  his  older  aunt  about  some  mat- 
ter trifling  enough,  God  knows,  to  have  caused  such 
dreadful  results.  Celestia  was  not  happy  in  her  way 
of  dealing  with  the  young.  Llewellyn  declared  that 
he  had  rather  go  and  dig  in  a  ditch  for  his  living 
than  be  dependent  on  her  whims.  I  forgot  to  say,  my 
dear,  that  by  this  time  their  fine  fortune  had  melted 
like  snow  in  the  sun,  and  Celestia  had  much  ado  to 
make  two  ends  meet.  "Well,  Celestia  bade  him  go, 
and,  spite  of  Selina's  tears  and  prayers,  the  boy  left 
them  one  morning,  and  has  never  been  heard  of 
since — Gay,  my  dear,  we  are  passing  Slater's,  and 
forgetting  to  match  Sister  Fiuetta's  gray  alpaca  — " 

"One  minute,  Auntie.  Was  it  Llewellyn's  loss 
that  made  Miss  Celestia  go  insane  ?  " 

"Who  can  tell,  €hild?  From  melancholy  she  passed 
9 


98  BELHAVEN  TALES 

into  utter  aberration ;  and  Selina,  though,  as  you 
know,  less  grievously  afflicted,  has  gone  under  the 
same  cloud.  Do  you  think  it  would  answer  to  trim 
it  with  a  piping  of  gray  satin  ?  Would  sister  think 
it  too  smart ! " 

"  Let  us  pipe  it  '  unbeknownst,' "  said  Gay,  smiling, 
"  and  she  won't  have  the  heart  to  rip  it  off.  Auntie,  I 
can't  think  Llewellyn  Stith  had  really  a  good  heart, 
or  it  would  have  softened  in  time  to  those  poor 
women  who  loved  him  so." 

"'He  will  come  back,'  Selina  said,  at  first  repeat- 
ing it  day  after  day.  Then  she  ceased  to  speak  of 
him,  and,  before  her  poor  heart  was  broken  quite, 
lapsed  into  merciful  oblivion." 

"  Oh,  it  was  wicked,  cruel !  "  cried  Gay.  "  How 
I  should  like  to  tell  him  so ! " 

"  My  dear,"  said  Miss  Penelope,  mildly,  "  that  was 
thirty  years  ago." 


II 

In  the  autumn  of  1859,  to  Gay,  then  a  blooming 
lassie  just  beginning  to  find  out  her  own  good  looks, 
occurred  an  event  that  in  dull  Belhaven  had  power 
to  excite  in  her  a  temporary  indifference  to  all  hu- 
man woe.  Through  an  old  friend  of  the  family,  a 
leader  in  the  social  world  of  Washington,  she  re- 
ceived an  invitation  to  meet  the  party  of  the  Prince 
of  Wales  on  the  occasion  of  his  intended  visit  to 
Mount  Vernon. 

Although  the  visitor  was  only  a  lad,  republican 


BELHAVEN  TALES  99 

maids  and  matrons  along  the  line  of  his  travels  were 
palpitating  to  secure  such  an  opportunity  as  came 
uusought  to  our  little  homespun  Gay.  To  her,  in 
truth,  it  was  less  prince,  more  outing.  She  had  not 
learned  the  importance  of  a  hand-shake  from  bud- 
ding royalty  under  watch  of  a  cordon  of  tutors  and 
courtiers.  Sufiftcient  to  fill  her  cup  was  the  prospect 
of  an  entirely  new  frock  made  by  Viney  Piper,  and  a 
new  ostrich-feather  for  her  hat  —  one  that  might  per- 
chance —  oh,  thought  of  joy !  —  go  entirely  around 
the  brim  and  rest  upon  the  shoulder.  Belhaven  gen- 
erally was  content  with  simple  tips. 

"It  is  the  Queen's  eldest  son,  my  dear,  and  we 
have  always  been  fond  of  England,"  said  Miss  Pe- 
nelope, fluttering.  "  I  should  n't  wonder  in  the  least 
if  your  Aunt  Finetta  should  decide  to  unlock  the 
wardrobe,  and  look  u.p  something  of  poor  Lucilla's 
that  you  might  wear." 

Gay's  eyes  sparkled.  She  could  never  get  over  the 
thrill  that  ensued  upon  a  hint  of  unlocking  the  ward- 
robe. But,  in  the  mean  time,  there  was  the  little 
sum  set  aside  with  careful  consideration  to  purchase 
a  new  muslin,  and  new  trimmings  for  her  hat.  And 
up  King  street,  in  Miss  Pewee's  window,  she  knew  of 
a  hat  she  meant  to  copy — the  sweetest  wide-brimmed 
Leghorn  encircled  with  a  plume  of  pale  rose-color, 
and  topped  with  a  knot  of  rose  velvet  —  a  master- 
piece of  art.  There  could  be  no  dawdling  over  the 
breakfast  things  that  day. 

As  soon  as  Miss  Penelope  had  "given  out"  sup- 
plies to  Peggy  and  Susan,  who  with  flour-measures 
and  sugar-bowls  and  jugs  attended  her  to  the  store- 


100  BELHAVEN  TALES 

room,  Gay  hurried  the  old  lady  into  her  bonnet  and 
shawl  and  away  to  the  emporium  of  Miss  Pewee,  in- 
tending afterward  to  repair  to  Slater's  for  the  pur- 
chase of  her  gown, 

''Let  you  look  at  that  hat  in  the  window?  Why, 
certainly,  Miss  Gray,"  exclaimed  Eliza  Pewee,  cor- 
dially. "You  'd  best  try  it  on,  miss,  for  you  can 
never  get  an  idea  —  I  '11  vow,  Miss  Penelope,  ma'am, 
I  've  yet  to  see  anything  set  off  Miss  Gay  like  this." 

Eliza,  a  member  of  Miss  Penelope's  Bible-class, 
was  well  trained  in  fundamentals ;  she  spoke  hon- 
est truth.  How  could  any  one  fail  to  perceive  the 
enchanting  frame  it  made  for  Gay's  waving  locks 
and  dusky,  long-lashed  eyes,  her  rose-bloom  and  her 
dimples'?  And,  oddly  enough,  at  that  very  moment, 
a  strange  young  man  stepped  into  the  shop  inquiring 
the  way  to  the  bookseller's,  and,  meeting  Miss  Gay's 
brown  orbs  full  on  his,  blushed,  apologized,  and  re- 
tired in  great  embarrassment. 

"Came  down  on  the  boat  from  Wash'n'ton  early 
this  mornin',"  explained  Miss  Pewee.  "My  sister  no- 
ticed him  when  he  got  off.  Seems  foreign-like,  don't 
you  think  so,  ma'am  ?  Has  been  pokin'  around  town 
all  mornin';  quite  the  gentleman,  I  'd  say.  Now, 
Miss  Gay,  you  really  ought  to  let  me  send  this  home. 
Day  before  yesterday,  when  I  took  it  out  o'  the  New 
York  packing-case,  says  I  to  Lizzie,  it  's  the  very 
thing  for  Miss  Gay  Berkeley  —  oh,  no  trouble  in  the 
world.  Miss  Gay.  I  've  the  same  untrimmed,  cer- 
tainly ;  and  feathers,  too,  only  not  half  so  long." 

While  Gay's  reluctant  fingers  turned  over  the  mil- 
liner's exhibit  of  raw  material — while  Gay,  sorely 


BELHAVEN  TALES  101 

tempted,  but  aware  that  the  price  of  the  coveted  hat 
would  exhaust  the  mouey  set  aside  for  her  complete 
outfit,  tried  to  wonder  how  she  could  be  satisfied 
with  two  tips  and  a  ribbon  bow  instead  of  that  lovely 
plume  and  the  velvet  sea-shell  made  by  wonder-work- 
ing fingers  —  Aunt  Penelope  was  undergoing  the 
same  mental  struggle.  When  Eliza  Pewee,  search- 
ing for  the  right  shade,  dived  behind  a  curtain  and 
disappeared  back  of  the  shop.  Aunt  Penelope  cleared 
her  throat,  and  spoke : 

"  Gay." 

"WeU,  Aunt  Pen?" 

"My  dear,  I  am  not  sure  whether  Sister  Finetta 
would  approve.  I  have  always  been  partial  to  rose- 
color,  and  as  this  is  the  first  time  one  of  the  royal 
family  has  visited  Mount  Vernon  since  the  war,  I 
think  Virginians  should  make  a  little  exertion.  My 
love,  if  we  buy  this  hat,  what  could  be  done  about  a 
frock  for  you?" 

"  O  dearest  Aunt  Pen,"  cried  the  girl,  radiantly, 
"  let  us  have  the  old  muslin  washed." 

As  they  were  walking  home — Gay  in  an  apres- 
moi-le-deluge  state  of  mind  —  they  ran  again  upon 
the  strange  young  man  coming  out  of  the  booksel- 
ler's with  a  parcel  under  his  arm.  They  heard  after- 
ward (everything  got  about  in  Belhaven)  that  he  had 
been  trying  to  purchase  any  literature  that  might 
contain  allusions  to  the  early  history  of  the  town 
and  its  inhabitants. 

"  I  suppose  he  is  some  young  journalist  from  the 
North,"  said  Miss  Penelope.  "Naturally  enough, 
such  people  take  interest  in  our  town." 


102  BELHAVEN  TALES 

"  His  cheeks  are  as  pink  as  my  new  ribbons/'  said 
Gay ;  *'  and  he  looks  painfully  shy  and  young.  O 
Aunt  Pen,  you  were  a  perfect  darling  to  decide  me 
about  that  hat." 

And  so  the  hat  came  home,  was  deposited  in  its 
bandbox  on  the  Marseilles  counterpane  of  the  spare- 
room  bed,  was  visited  by  Gay  in  her  nightgown  (to 
try  it  on  again),  by  the  Misses  Bassett  from  next 
door,  by  Peggy  and  Susan  and  Cynthy  from  the 
kitchen,  and  in  time  became  a  proverb  in  the  town. 

On  the  day  following,  a  family  conclave  gathered 
in  the  chill,  speckless  room  wherein  Great-Grand- 
papa Berkeley  had  given  up  the  ghost,  since  in- 
habited in  solitary  state  by  his  eldest  daughter.  It 
was  a  dusky  chamber,  with  bed-curtains  and  win- 
dow-curtains of  white  dimity,  the  chief  wall-space 
occupied  by  a  massive  wardrobe  of  lustrous  mahog- 
any, before  which,  like  a  priestess  at  the  shrine, 
stood  the  grim  figure  of  Aunt  Finetta,  keys  in  hand. 
The  wide  doors  of  the  sanctuary,  yet  obstinately 
shut,  reflected  Gay's  rosy  face,  her  dark  brows  puck- 
ered in  a  frown  of  intense  expectancy,  side  by  side 
with  Aunt  Pen's  drab  puffs  of  hair  and  scarcely  less 
anxious  visage.  In  the  corridor  outside,  in  an  agony 
of  curiosity,  hovered  a  little  black  girl,  who  would 
have  given  a  tooth  or  an  eye  to  cross  the  threshold. 
With  a  rattle  and  a  clank,  Miss  Berkeley  unlocked 
the  wardrobe  doors  and  swung  them  back.  Forth 
stole  upon  pleased  olfactories  a  scent  of  attar  of 
roses  that  changed,  ere  one  fairly  had  sniffed  it,  into 
that  of  Tonquin  bean;  then  a  tang  of  camphor 
struck  the  air.     They  caught  visions  of  squat  band- 


BELHAVEN  TALES  103 

boxes  covered  with  flowered  wall-paper ;  of  lac- 
quered boxes,  boxes  of  sandalwood,  of  Tunbridge 
Wells  mosaic,  of  Italian  olive-wood,  cabas  and  bags 
of  leather  and  satin,  and  of  homelier  green  baize ; 
of  parcels  wrapped  in  rice-paper,  in  silver-paper,  in 
tissue-paper  —  all  neatly  ranged  upon  the  shelves. 

Gay's  attention  was  fairly  dazzled,  roving  between 
Lucilla's  Mechlin  pinner  and  the  waistcoat  with  sil- 
ver sprigs  worn  by  great-grandpapa  to  President 
Washington's  levee — between  a  pelisse  of  white 
satin,  painted  with  ragged-robins,  and  a  "slip"  of 
pale  blue  trimmed  with  tarnished  silver  fringe,  in 
which  Miss  Finetta  had  danced  a  minuet  with  Colonel 
Aaron  Burr.  She  handled  a  necklace  of  turquoise 
disks  enframed  in  golden  filigree,  and  let  a  long 
chain  of  aquamarines  glide  rippling  through  her 
hands,  till  recalled  by  an  exclamation  from  Aunt 
Penelope. 

"  Sister !  While  you  have  the  writing-desk  in  hand, 
suppose  you  let  Gay  see  those  miniatures  of  poor 
Selina  and  Llewellyn  she  gave  us  on  the  boy's  eigh- 
teenth birthday.  It  is  a  long  time  since  you  had 
them  out." 

"  Is  that  Miss  Selina  ?  "  cried  Gay,  eagerly.  "  How 
perfectly  lovely  she  was  !  O  Auntie,  there  is  no  one 
so  pretty  now.  And  this — why — how  odd — Llewel- 
lyn is  exactly  like  the  young  man  we  saw  buying 
books  at  Stringer's  yesterday." 

"My  dear  child,"  said  Miss  Penelope,  catching 
her  breath,  "  you  take  me  by  surprise.  It  is  hardly 
a  subject  to  jest  upon.  Put  away  the  pictures,  child, 
aud  pray  say  nothing  more  about  them.     It  is  long 


104  BELHAVEN  TALES 

since  I  have  cared  to  look  at  either.  There,  sister, 
that  is  the  organdie  I  spoke  of — pink  convolvulus  on 
a  white  ground — so  beautifully  sheer — if  Viney  can't 
make  it  over  for  Gay,  nobody  can — pity  it 's  a  little 
yellow.  To  be  sure,  the  Prince  is  but  a  lad,  and  he 
might  not  notice  it  is  off  the  white." 

But  Miss  Berkeley,  standing  erect  and  unsmiling, 
the  filmy  fabric  flowing  from  her  arms,  answered  not 
a  word.  She  was  thinking  of  the  dead  young  sister 
who  in  her  brief  season  had  been  as  full  of  the  pride 
of  youth  and  the  flush  of  hope  as  Gray.  With  a  deep 
sigh,  she  laid  the  dress  in  Miss  Pen's  lap,  and  when 
she  spoke  again  it  was  to  utter  some  moral  reflections 
upon  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of  a  prince,  drawn 
from  the  fount  of  her  favorite  classic.  Dr.  Johnson's 
''  Rasselas." 

"Ting-a-ling-a-ling!"  went  the  front-doorbell.  It 
was  before  visiting-hours,  and  they  knew  that  most 
of  the  ladies  of  their  acquaintance  were  making 
pickles  at  the  time. 

The  little  black  girl,  fortified  by  a  sense  of  duty, 
knocked  boldly  at  the  chamber  door.  When  bidden 
to  come  in,  her  eyes  wandered  wildly  on  every  side 
at  once,  trying  to  take  in  all  she  could  while  deliver- 
ing her  message. 

''  It 's  ole  Major  Gyanett,  miss ;  and  he  axes  to  see 
de  ladies  mos'  partic'lar." 

"Penelope,  you  will  go  down  at  once,"  said  Miss 
Berkeley.  "  I  shall  follow  when  I  have  put  away  the 
things." 

Covertly  adjusting  her  cap.  Miss  Pen  obeyed.  Gay 
accompanied  her  to  the  blue  parlor,  where  they  found 


BELHAVEN  TALES  105 

the  little  gentleman  walking  up  and  down  in  great 
excitement. 

'^God  bless  my  soul !  Miss  Penelope,  ma'am,  here 's 
an  extraordinary  thing,''  said  the  old  fellow.  "  News, 
after  all  these  years,  of  Llewellyn  Stith,  who  is  mar- 
ried and  living  in  England,  and  has  sent  his  only 
surviving  son  to  look  us  up.  I  '11  declare  to  you 
ma'am,  that,  in  my  hurry  to  let  you  know,  I  brought 
my  cane  and  forgot  my  hat ! " 

"One  moment,  David,"  said  tremulous  Miss  Pen. 
"  You  will  kindly  not  tell  me  any  more  till  my  sister 
comes  down.  My  sister  must  be  first  to  hear,  of 
course." 

So  Gay  was  the  seeress,  after  all.  She  listened 
with  avidity  to  the  Major's  story  when.  Aunt  Finetta 
arriving,  he  was  free  to  rid  his  burning  tongue  of  the 
strange  tale.  Llewellyn  had  gone  to  Australia  in 
his  youth,  and  there  fell  in  with  a  relative  of  the 
elder  branch  of  his  father's  family,  whose  daughter 
he  married,  and  who,  called  back  to  England  to  in- 
herit a  good  property,  was  now  succeeded  by  his  son- 
in-law.  But  although  fortune  had  smiled  on  Llewel- 
lyn, he  had  known  great  sorrow.  One  member  after 
another  of  his  family  had  died  off,  leaving  only  the 
youngest  son,  Berkeley,  named  in  memory  of  his 
kind  friends  in  Belhaven,  whom  he  had  never  ceased 
to  love. 

"Always  the  curse.  I  always  said  the  curse  would 
not  be  lifted  till  the  legend  of  the  ring  came  true  — 
and  oh !  how  can  it  come  true  ? "  interrupted  Miss 
Penelope,  at  this  point,  turning  an  eager  glance  first 
at  her  sister  and  then  at  the  Major. 


106  BELHAVEN  TALES 

Gray's  ears  and  eyes  opened.  What,  oh,  what  ii'as 
the  legend  of  the  ring  ? 

"  Penelope,  you  will  oblige  me  by  not  inten-upting 
Major  Garnett,"  said  Miss  Berkeley,  frowning. 

"  Not  knowing  what  members  of  our  families  still 
survive,  Llewellyn,  who  is  an  invalid,  directed  his 
son  to  make  inquiries  through  the  British  minister 
in  Washington.  Lord  Lyons,  who  is  my  very  good 
friend,  referred  him  at  once  to  me ;  and,  after  an  ef- 
fort to  see  me  yesterday,  when  I  was  up  the  country, 
the  boy  returned  to  town  to-day.  It  appears  that 
poor  Llewellyn  feels  that  he  cannot  die  without  an 
effort  to  ask  forgiveness  of  his  aunts.  Egad,  ma'am, 
the  trouble  with  me  was  how  to  tell  the  lad  the  con- 
dition of  his  afflicted  relatives." 

"Night  and  day  since  Llewellyn  left  her,"  said 
Miss  Pen,  tearfully,  "Selina  has  worn  around  her 
neck  a  shirt-stud  found  on  his  dressing-table.  Old 
Juno  says  she  'd  as  soon  think  of  offering  to  take  it 
off  as  of  removing  the  ring  from  her  Miss  Celestia's 
finger." 

Again  the  ring.  Gay's  mind  was  intolerably  busy 
with  speculation.  Why  had  she  never  heard  of  if? 
In  the  midst  of  her  wondering  came  the  direful  com- 
monplace of  a  summons  from  Peggy,  to  know  if  Miss 
Qsij  was  ready  to  begin  on  the  pickled  mangos.  She 
waited  to  hear  Major  Garnett  add  that  the  lad,  who 
was  a  pleasant  fellow,  but  shy  and  awkward,  had 
promised  to  return  to  Belhaven  within  a  day  or  two, 
and  to  make  him  a  visit  until  they  could  decide  upon 
what  to  do  in  the  matter  of  carrying  out  the  injunc- 
tion of  his  father. 


BELHAVEN  TALES  107 

"  To  look  at  young  Mr.  Stith,  one  would  not  have 
thought  he  came  of  such  a  cold-blooded,  hard-hearted 
father,"  mused  Gay,  who  felt  that  she  had  at  last  ob- 
tained her  dues  in  the  matter  of  a  genuine  romance. 


m 

"It  was  a  beautiful  autumn  day,"  said  the  news- 
papers of  the  time,  "  when  nature  put  on  her  gayest 
livery  to  welcome  to  the  burial-place  of  Washington 
the  heir  to  the  Georges'  throne." 

Gay  and  the  Major,  who  was  to  be  her  escort  on 
the  drive,  were  in  the  hall  of  the  house  in  Princess 
Royal  street  waiting  for  Timson's  hack.  The  little 
Major,  over  his  best  auburn  scratch,  wore  a  well- 
brushed  beaver  hat,  his  blue  body-coat  was  smartly 
buttoned,  his  standing  collar  was  snow-white,  his 
black  silk  stock  was  tied  jauntily,  and  he  carried  his 
great-grandfather's  gold-headed  stick.  Miss  Pen, 
surveying  him  with  lambent  tenderness,  felt  that 
he  was  a  credit  to  the  day. 

Gay,  attired  in  Lucilla's  organdie  and  Miss  Pewee's 
champion  hat,  looked  bewitching.  Running  out  into 
the  garden,  she  had  picked  for  her  belt  a  big  bunch 
of  "  bleeding-hearts,"  and  a  smaller  posy  of  the  same 
for  the  Major's  buttonhole.  Now  all  was  ready,  and 
still  the  recreant  Timson  did  not  come. 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut !  "  said  Miss  Penelope.  "  I  suppose 
he  forgot  to  have  the  window  mended  that  rattled 
so.  Well,  I  always  did  say  I  could  trust  Viney  Piper 
to  cut  anything;  though  she  was  unlucky  with  my 


108  BELHAVEN  TALES 

brown  lustring  a  year  ago  last  February,  there  's 
no  denying  it.  How  odd  it  seems  for  you  to  be  going 
to  meet  the  Prince,  child,  when  one  remembers  the 
stand  grandpapa  took  in  the  Revolution  —  though, 
to  be  sure,  grandpapa  had  fought  with  the  English 
in  the  French  and  Indian  affairs.  I  must  say  it 
shows  a  very  proper  feeling  in  the  Queen  to  let  her 
son  come.  Dear,  dear!  if  it  should  rain,  if  there  's 
the  least  moisture  in  the  air,  I  hope  you  will  think 
about  your  feather  all  the  time,  child !  Mind  you 
take  particular  note  of  the  color  of  his  hair  and  eyes, 
and  remember  all  he  says  about  the  royal  family. 
Here  's  good  Miss  Fanny  Bassett,  my  dear,  stepped 
in  to  see  you  dressed.  Yes,  Miss  Fanny;  we  think 
our  little  girl  looks  very  nice  —  Major,  do  you  reckon 
anything  could  have  hap  —  there  's  Timson  at  last, 
and,  I  declare,  if  he  has  n't  got  the  little  white  horses 
with  long  tails  that  he  drives  to  the  baby  hearse ! " 

Under  the  oak-trees  on  the  Mount  Vernon  lawn 
had  gathered  a  pleasant  company.  The  silver-haired 
President  with  his  fair,  stately  niece;  Lord  Lyons, 
genial  Sir  Henry  Holland,  the  imposing  Duke  of 
Newcastle  —  these  were  most  prominent  in  the  en- 
tourage of  the  blond  boy  with  courtly  manners,  who 
looked  as  if  he  would  have  liked  to  escape  cere- 
monial and  enjoy  Mount  Vernon  after  some  fashion 
of  his  own  devising.  Elsewhere,  everywhere,  were 
brOliant  groups  of  fashionable  folk,  lighting  up  the 
greensward  to  the  semblance  of  a  Petit  Trianon.  Gay 
Berkeley,  who  had  made  her  little  reverence  to  the 
Prince,  had  been  rallied  and  flattered  by  some  of  the 
oldsters  of  the  suite,  and  was  now  followed  by  three 


BELHAVEN  TALES  109 

or  four  young  fellows  eager  for  her  smiles,  was  en- 
joying herself  with  the  true  gusto  of  a  Virginian 
belle. 

When  the  little  Major  came  up  to  her  in  the  box- 
walled  garden  to  present  Mr.  Berkeley  Stith,  Gay 
found  it  a  decided  interruption  to  her  festivities  to 
have  to  stop  to  ''draw  out''  this  reserved  English 
boy,  who  colored  to  the  eyebrows  when  she  spoke  to 
him.  Romance  incarnate  though  he  was,  Mr.  Stith 
would  have  been  more  in  place  in  Belhaven  limits. 
Somehow  he  did  not  harmonize  with  her  high-heeled 
Spanish  attache,  or  with  the  other  glib  and  gilded 
youths  who  made  up  her  train. 

''  Things  are  never  quite  what  one  expects  them  to 
be,"  mused  the  young  lady,  driving  home,  while  the 
little  long-tailed  white  horses,  availing  themselves  of 
unprofessional  opportunity,  trotted  briskly  along.  "It 
has  been  all  delightful,  but  —  but  —  I  don't  get  on 
with  Mr.  Stith." 

"He  is  very  young,"  ventured  the  Major. 

''That  is  n't  it;  I  can  always  manage  boys,"  said 
Gay,  superbly.  "  If  it  were  not  absurd,  I  should  say 
that  he  has  some  especial  reason  to  be  afraid  of  me." 

"  In  that  hat  you  are  undoubtedly  dangerous,  my 
dear,"  responded  the  gallant  old  gentleman. 

"No;  but  really,  Major  Daisy,  I  tried  so  hard.  I 
told  him  everything  I  know  about  Mount  Vernon  — 
even  the  old  story  about  the  lady  who  wept  over  the 
ice-house,  mistaking  it  for  the  tomb.  But  nothing 
would  cheer  him  up." 

"  You  will  be  better  friends  when  he  comes  to  stop 
with  me,"  said  Major  Daisy,  with  confidence. 
10 


110  BELHAVEN  TALES 

But  Gay  held  to  her  opinion ;  and  when,  the  next 
afternoon,  she  heard  the  door-bell  ring,  prepared  her- 
self for  a  dull  quarter  of  an  hour. 

"I  seen  cote-tails  on  de  frou'  po'ch,  miss.  'Spec' 
it  's  students  come  to  tea,"  said  the  little  black  girl, 
putting  her  head  into  Gray's  room  and  irreverently 
alluding  to  the  theological  visitors  most  common  in 
Belhaven  streets. 

"  My  dear,  have  you  seen  anything  of  my  glasses!" 
said  Miss  Penelope,  coming  in  with  a  card  in  hand. 
"  O  Cynthy,  are  you  there  ?  Run,  look  for  my  specs, 
child,  and  hurry  if  you  can." 

"  Dey  ain'  no  use  hurryin'  'less  Miss  Pen  hurry  too," 
said  the  small  dark  person,  pointing  her  forefinger  at 
the  old  lady's  puffs.  '^'Ca'se  dar  dey  is,  bof  pa'rs, 
certain  shua." 

"It  is  Mr.  Stith,  Auntie,"  explained  Gay,  glancing 
at  the  card.  '^  If  you  and  Aunt  Finetta  are  ready  to 
go  down,  do  you  think  I  need  come  quite  yet?" 

"  You  will  accompany  us,  my  dear.  I  should  like 
nothing  to  be  lacking  in  our  welcome  of  the  child  of 
an  old  friend  who  thought  enough  of  my  papa  to 
name  his  son  for  him." 

When  the  Misses  Berkeley,  all  prunes  and  prisms 
and  best  silk  gowns,  entered  the  blue  parlor.  Gay  in 
their  wake,  they  found  the  stranger,  holding  his  hat 
behind  his  back,  inspecting  the  miniatures  that  hung 
in  a  row  above  the  mantel-shelf.  He  turned,  and,  at 
the  first  look  into  his  honest  blue  eyes,  the  two  old 
women,  seeing  the  unmistakable  likeness  to  the  long- 
absent  Llewellyn,  melted  in  kindness  to  the  lad. 
Placing  him  between   them   on  the  haircloth  sofa, 


BELHAVEN  TALES  111 

they  conducted  the  conversation  in  alternate  rivulets 
of  polite  inquiry.  Miss  Pen,  solicitous  about  his 
father's  failing  health,  urged  on  him  the  propriety  of 
sending  at  once  to  England  a  large  supply  of  her 
Grandmama  Berkeley's  preparation  of  wild-cherry 
bark,  tar  and  honey;  Miss  Berkeley,  elaborately  un- 
bending, contented  herself  with  propounding  oracles 
concerning  the  British  government,  the  aristocracy, 
the  Church  and  customs  of  his  native  land.  Gay, 
from  her  taboret  in  the  window-seat,  caught  the 
humor  of  the  scene.  When,  upon  being  pressed  to 
say  how  the  Queen  was  looking  when  he  saw  her  last, 
Mr,  Stith,  turning  his  silk  hat  nervously,  answered 
that  "  It  was  at  a  flower-show,  you  know,  and  her 
Majesty  was  rather  hot,  and  uncommonly  red  in  the 
face,"  Gay,  observing  the  shocked  expression  of  her 
aunts,  burst  outright  into  laughter  that  went  trill- 
ing through  the  empty  spaces  of  the  house.  At 
which  Berkeley  Stith's  young  spirit  overleaped  con- 
ventionalities, and  he  too  laughed.  Dennis,  coming  in 
with  a  salver  containing  cake  and  wine,  relieved  the 
situation  for  both  the  lawless  ones. 

From  this  date  Berkeley  was  adopted  as  one  of 
them.  He  lost  his  constraint  in  the  presence  of  their 
simple  cordiality.  The  pleasant  house,  with  its  bare, 
polished  floors,  wide  halls,  old-fashioned  furniture 
and  customs,  the  jolly  negro  faces  in  every  back- 
ground, the  smell  of  dried  rose-leaves  everywhere, 
the  soft  voices,  to  say  nothing  of  the  rich  Southern 
beauty  of  the  little  maiden  who  already  had  him  in 
her  chains,  made  life  there  seem  an  afternoon  of  holi- 
day from  school. 


112  BELHAVEN  TALES 

They  had  talked  much  of  the  ways  and  means 
of  introducing  Berkeley  to  his  father's  aunts.  Miss 
Penelope,  indeed,  had  urged  upon  the  lad  the  hope- 
lessness of  attempting  to  rouse  either  of  them  to 
recognition;  but  when,  with  quiet  determination,  he 
assured  her  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  return 
to  England,  having  neglected  the  effort  to  do  so, 
Aunt  Pen  agreed  to  second  him. 

Gay  had  never  set  foot  in  the  garden  of  the  Pop- 
lars. She  had  seen  the  horse-chestnuts  flower  and 
drop  over  the  high  brick  walls,  and  the  long  arms  of 
distorted  fruit-trees  let  fall,  outside,  pears  and  plums 
too  hard  and  warped  for  even  the  milk-teeth  of  eager 
children  of  the  street ;  but  all  within  was  a  mystery 
like  the  contents  of  the  house.  When  Aunt  Penel- 
ope, coming  to  meet  them  at  a  door  set  in  the  ivy  of 
the  wall,  unlocked  it  to  admit  her  with  Berkeley 
Stith  and  Major  Garnett,  the  girl  looked  about  her, 
full  of  awe. 

Nothing  so  dreary  as  this  tangle  of  neglected  vege- 
tation had  come  within  her  ken.  Elsewhere,  at  this 
season,  in  the  gardens  of  the  town,  rioted  a  glorious 
second  crop  of  blossoms,  richer  in  tint  and  sweeter  of 
smell  than  those  of  summer-time.  Here,  so  long  had 
nature  unpruned  laid  one  layer  of  growth  upon  an- 
other, the  foliage  underneath  was  skeletonized  and 
gray.  The  few  flowers  that  had  struggled  into  bloom 
were  touched  with  blight.  The  great  old  sycamores, 
mulberries  and  ''  paper-leafs  "  locked  their  boughs  to 
make  a  twilight  down  below.  Under  the  rotting 
arches  of  a  grape-arcade  there  were  two  long  tracks 
worn  by  footsteps,  distinct  as  the  "beat"  of  prisoners 


BELHAVEN   TALES  113 

ill  Old  World  dungeons,  where,  for  half  a  century, 
Miss  Selina  had  taken  her  daily  exercise. 

"Now,  my  dear,  keep  your  spirits  up,"  said  Aunt 
Pen,  in  a  cheerful  whisper.  "  It  will  startle  her 
less,  I  think,  if  you  and  the  Major  come  in  with 
Berkeley.  Rain  or  shine,  I  've  been  visiting  here  this 
many  a  year,  and  I  've  met  with  nothing  more  alarm- 
ing than  mice;  so  pray,  all  of  you,  put  off  those  dole- 
ful looks.  I  find  from  Juno  that  poor  Celestia  is 
very  weak,  though  she  's  up  and  in  her  chair,  as 
usual,  in  the  room  she  's  never  left  in  twenty  years. 
My  plan  is  to  have  you  come  into  the  upper  hall, 
where  in  old  times  the  young  people  used  to  sit  and 
chat  around  the  bay-window  seat,  and  let  Selina  find 
you  there." 

They  mounted  the  stairs  and  sat,  a  silent  trio,  in 
the  half  light  that  filtered  through  panes  overgrown 
outside  with  ivy.  The  paper  of  walls  almost  covered 
with  mezzotints  and  steel-engravings,  now  obscured 
from  sight  by  grime,  hung  in  melancholy  garlands ; 
the  fiddle-backed  chairs  ranged  in  rows  around  them 
were  whole,  but  veiled  in  dust ;  across  the  open  door 
of  a  bedroom  opposite  a  spider  had  spun  its  web  in 
full  view.  Another  door  was  conspicuously  closed. 
Not  a  sound  smote  upon  their  ears  in  the  great  voids 
of  the  silent  house  but  their  own  quickened  breath- 
ing and  the  buzzing  of  a  bluebottle  fly  attempting 
to  escape  to  outer  air. 

'*  Oh,  will  Aunt  Pen  never  come  !  "  whispered  Gay, 
at  last,  and  Berkeley,  who  was  next  to  her,  took  her 
hand  in  his,  smiling  at  her  wan  looks. 

The  little  Major,  hat  in  hand,  sat  in  a  brown 


114  BELHAVEN  TALES 

study,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground.  He  was  liv- 
ing over  a  lifetime  of  joy  and  sorrow,  of  which  the 
young  things  near  him  had  tasted  only  the  first  drop. 
Gay  felt  herself  shivering  closer  to  Berkeley,  who 
kept  her  hand  in  his  firm  clasp,  saying  not  a  word. 

And  then,  led  by  Miss  Penelope,  who,  with  her 
arm  around  her  waist,  spoke  in  a  low  gentle  whis- 
per in  her  ear,  there  came  to  them  a  small,  slight 
creature  clothed  in  white,  her  flaxen  hair,  streaked 
with  gray,  hanging  upon  her  neck,  her  wide,  sad 
eyes  looking  at  vacancy. 

"  Here  are  friends  who  love  you,  Selina,"  said  Miss 
Penelope.  '^  Look,  my  dear,  and  see  if  you  do  not  re- 
member David.  And  this  is  my  little  Gay,  of  whom 
I  Ve  often  talked  to  you ;  and  this  is  —  " 

"  Llewellyn ! "  cried  the  poor  lady,  a  look  coming 
into  her  eyes  as  if  a  lamp  had  been  set  into  a  dark 
casement.  *^  Llewellyn,  my  own  boy,  you  We  come 
back  to  us  at  last!" 

Berkeley  Stith  caught  in  his  strong  young  arms 
the  frail  form  that  swayed  toward  him.  At  the  same 
moment  was  heard  from  behind  the  door  of  the 
closed  room  a  shrill  scream,  and  old  Juno,  running 
out  like  a  spider  from  its  lair,  appeared  among 
them. 

''  O  my  poor  mistis,  she  's  no  mo' !  My  Miss  Ce- 
lestia  's  gone ! "  she  cried.  *'  Bress  Jesus,  dere  's  one 
on  'em  he  's  taken  to  hisself.  She  's  done  passed 
away  in  sleep." 

Miss  Penelope  looked  in  alarm  at  Selina's  white 
face  resting  on  Berkeley's  shoulder,  but  it  wore  a 
smile  of  ineffable  content.     She  had  heard  nothing, 


BELHAVEN  TALES  115 

suffered  nothing.  The  brief  gleam  of  reason,  giving 
her  the  desire  of  her  heart  for  years,  had  faded,  leav- 
ing her  at  peace. 

Miss  Selina  made  no  resistance  to  the  removal 
from  her  old  home  into  a  place  where  every  care 
was  lavished  npon  the  remainder  of  her  days.  She 
was  gentle,  grateful,  obedient;  did  not  seem  to  re- 
alize her  sister's  death;  and  at  a  second  meeting 
with  her  grandnephew  showed  no  recognition  of  his 
presence.  That  she  had,  however,  secretly  visited 
the  chamber  of  the  dead,  to  remove  from  Celestia's 
finger  a  quaint  ring  of  twisted  gold,  was  proved  by 
her  last  act  before  parting  with  Miss  Penelope  to 
go  into  her  retreat. 

"You  will  give  this  to  Llewellyn,  with  our  dear 
love,"  she  said,  laying  the  ring  in  her  old  friend's 
hand.  "  Celestia  had  been  keeping  it  till  he  should 
come." 

Berkeley  could  not  trust  himself  to  visit  again  the 
old  house  at  the  Poplars  until  the  week  after  Miss 
Selina's  departure.  Already  some  people  who  had 
been  put  in  charge  had  opened  the  deserted  mansion 
to  light  and  air ;  and  with  Gay  the  young  man  wan- 
dered through  it,  gazing  curiously  at  the  scene  of 
the  drama  of  death  in  life,  so  recently  enacted. 

''  This  will  all  be  yours  some  day,"  said  Gay.  "  I 
hope  you  will  never  let  coarse,  unfeeling  people  get 
possession  of  it,  and  tell  its  stories  to  gaping  visitors." 

''When  this  house  goes  from  my  hands,  it  shall 
go  to  destruction,  if  I  have  my  way,"  he  answered. 
"But  I  can  fancy  certain  conditions  under  which  I 
should  even  like  to  live  in  it." 


116  BELHAVEN  TALES 

What  those  conditions  were  Gay  did  not  press  him 
to  explain ;  nor  were  they  apparently  realized,  since 
to-day,  running  close  to  the  site  of  the  old  dwelling, 
destroyed  by  fire  during  the  war,  a  railroad  inter- 
sects the  garden,  and  rows  of  small  frame-houses 
have  taken  the  place  of  the  tangled  bowers  where 
Selina  was  wont  to  walk. 

But  when,  some  years  later,  Mr.  Berkeley  Stith 
came  back  to  America  to  claim  a  bride,  the  ring  used 
for  the  ceremony  was  one  of  the  odd  "  gimmals "  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  made  of  blended  links  held 
together  by  a  pair  of  golden  hands,  which,  when  sep- 
arated, allowed  the  circle  to  drop  apart.  Within 
were  inscribed  these  lines  : 

"  When  —With  —  This  —  Round  —  Trew  —  Hartes 
— Doe  — Wedde  — Y^ — Curse — Shalle — Pass — From 
—  Stith — Hysse — Hedde." 

"  So  we  are  the  legend  of  the  ring  ? "  said  Gay,  fin- 
gering it  curiously,  upon  her  bridal  eve. 

"  Yes.  At  least  my  poor  father,  who  in  his  last 
days  took  hold  of  the  fancy  with  surprising  persis- 
tence, made  me  promise  to  induce  you  to  wear  it  at 
our  marriage.  I  must  own,  however,  that  I  believe 
in  it  just  as  much  as  I  believe  in  our  fabled  curse,  and 
as  most  people  believe  in  their  respectable  old  family 
ghosts." 

"  Take  care  !  Peggy  declared  that  it  was  this  scof- 
fing spirit  on  the  part  of  the  previous  Stiths  that 
brought  about  their  woes." 

"  Our  luck  has  turned  since  the  day  I  saw  the  dear- 
est little  girl  in  the  world  admiring  herself  in  a  milli- 
ner's looking-glass.     I  '11  own  to  you  now.  Gay,  that 


BELHAVEN  TALES  117 

I  fell  SO  hopelessly  in  love  with  that  hat  that  I  was 
afraid  to  look  you  in  the  face  next  day,  for  fear  of 
letting  out  my  secret." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !  "  the  girl  cried  gleefully.  "  To 
have  been  loved  at  first  sight,  and  to  be  married  with 
a  legendary  ring,  realizes  all  my  youthful  dreams.  I 
shall  never  be  silly  any  more;  but  it  is  a  final  tribute 
to  my  foolish  old  romance." 

If  Gay  had  consulted  Aunt  Pen  (then  Mrs.  David 
Garnett)  and  her  husband,  who  gave  the  bride  away, 
they  might  have  told  her  that  all  of  life's  romance 
is  not  in  the  dreams  of  youth.  But  this,  perhaps,  in 
her  happy  married  life,  she  has  now  found  out  for 
herself. 


CROW'S  NEST 


FAIR  May  day  in  the  spring  of  1860 
found  two  young  men  riding  along 
a  wood  road  of  the  border-land  in 
Virginia,  destined  before  long  to 
echo  with  the  ring  of  troopers'  steel, 
with  the  tramp  of  hosts  marching 
to  war  in  mighty  phalanx. 

As  yet,  there  was  of  the  strife  to  come  only  a 
distant  thunder  growl  in  warning,  and  the  ears  that 
heard  it  were  those  of  the  watch-dogs  of  the  nation ! 
Hoyt  and  Newbold,  formerly  chums  at  college,  had 
drifted  hither  in  the  course  of  a  Southern  journey 
undertaken  after  Newbold's  serious  illness  at  his 
home  in  New- York.  Hoyt,  wide-awake,  blue-eyed, 
alert  and  unimaginative,  the  mercantile  element  in 
his  blood  kept  in  check  by  the  veneer  of  gracious 
Fortune,  wondered  at  Newbold's  vagrant  fancy  for 
byways  and  odd  corners  during  their  agreeably  aim- 
less jaunt.  He  would  chaff  his  friend  without  ceas- 
ing over  his  fondness  for  lingering  in  churchyards, 
or  losing  his  eye-glasses  in  dusty  parish  registers, 
while  taking  hieroglyphic  notes  from  some  saffron 


CROW'S    NEST  119 

page,  dislodging  for  the  purpose  the  filmy  skeletons 
of  veritable  bookworms  which  had  perished  there, 
long  since,  of  delightful  satiety ! 

"  And  what  if  I  love  the  seed-capsule  and  you  the 
flower,  Hoyt?"  Newbold  said,  summing  it  all  up. 
''You  are  a  flower  yourself,  a  splendid  specimen, 
meant  to  bloom  in  the  foremost  parterre  of  our  com- 
ing American  Renaissance.  Nature  intended  me  for 
a  nook  or  a  niche  somewhere,  or  else  the  bottom  of 
a  china  jar  set  in  a  corner  cupboard. 

"I  say!"  Newbold  continued,  dreamily  talking, 
"  somehow  or  other,  I  feel  at  home  down  here  on  the 
threshold  of  a  world  that  is  neither  New  England, 
with  her  high-pressure  life  of  invention,  enterprise, 
smartness,  and  general  good  repair,  nor  yet  old  Eng- 
land, with  her  storied  memories.  I  like  to  think 
I  'm  not  likely  to  encounter  a  rising  capitalist  south 
of  the  Potomac.  I  've  a  pet  vision  of  these  old 
grandees  chipped  out  of  colonial  history,  who  will 
be  found  sitting  beneath  the  umbrageous  branches 
of  their  family  trees,  smoking  good  tobacco  and  sip- 
ping —  what  do  they  sip.  Hoy t  —  Falernian  ? " 

"For  Falernian,  read  old  rye,"  Hoyt  answered. 
"Newbold,  you  are  the  most  preposterous  dreamer 
and  dawdler.  I  don't  see  what  you  make  it  out  of. 
Look  at  these  mud-holes,  look  at  those  crazy  fences ! 
Houses  tumbling  to  pieces,  old  hats  stuffed  into  the 
cabin  windows,  the  negroes  along  the  road  like 
scarecrows,  their  children  little  nudities.  Not  a 
decent  farm-house  have  we  passed  in  three  miles 
back ;  nothing  but  woods,  woods,  woods,  before  and 
behind." 


120  CROW'S   NEST 

"  One  pardons  any  heresy  in  a  hungry  man,"  New- 
bold  answered.  ''  Cheer  up,  comrade  !  Think  of  what 
that  dear,  delightful  fellow,  Conway,  who  took  us  to 
his  heart  and  club  in  Baltimore,  promised  us !  A 
typical  old  border  mansion  (which  should  be  here- 
abouts), and,  for  host,  a  relic  of  the  pig-tailed  gen- 
try of  a  century  ago.  Conway,  who  is  an  eleventh 
cousin  of  these  Hunters,  felt  himself  quite  free  to 
bestow  on  us  a  letter  of  introduction  to  them.  My 
knowledge  of  the  topography  of  Fauquier  County 
is  limited,  but,  from  the  directions  given  by  the  ho- 
tel-keeper at  Pohick,  we  must  be  somewhere  near  the 
Aspen  River,  which  bounds  the  Hunter  property  on 
this  side.  What  a  bit  of  road  for  a  canter,  Hoyt, 
this  alley  just  ahead ! " 

They  were  off  at  a  gallop  through  the  long,  green 
tunnel,  made  by  oak  and  maple,  sassafras  and  hem- 
lock, sweet-gum  and  tulip-tree,  blending  their  boughs 
in  leafy  communion.  Vines  of  wild  grape  clambered 
everywhere  upon  their  stout-shouldered  neighbors, 
hanging  out  banners  of  close-woven  greenery  and 
tassels  of  luscious  bloom.  Here  the  light  of  the 
afternoon  sun  was  filtered  across  the  mossy  ground, 
and  from  the  hidden  bowers  of  undergrowth  came 
the  song  of  many  a  sweet,  unfrightened  bird. 

Beyond  this  dense  tract  of  woodland,  the  road 
came  suddenly  to  a  halt  upon  the  steep  bank  of  a 
rushing  yellow  stream,  churned  to  mad  activity  by  a 
recent  freshet.  In  a  thicket  of  pines,  upon  the  oppo- 
site shore,  stood  a  weather-beaten  red  cottage,  ap- 
parently deserted,  with  door  and  windows  shut.  A 
line  stretched  across  the  stream,  and  a  rude  attempt 


CEOW'S   NEST  121 

at  ferry-tackle  directed  attention  to  the  flatboat  se- 
cured at  the  farther  landing. 

The  two  travelers  sat  their  steeds  and  exhausted 
every  known  species  of  war-cry,  whoop  and  yodel, 
bnt  in  vain.  No  answer,  no  sign  of  life  from  the 
ferry-house.  Only  the  mocking  note  of  a  crow,  as 
he  rose  from  a  tree-top  and  sailed  in  tantalizing- 
fashion  across  to  the  haven  of  their  hopes. 

^'  Confound  the  free-and-easy  Virginian  who  under- 
takes this  business ! "  Hoy t  exclaimed,  furiously  flick- 
ing the  mud  from  his  trousers  with  his  riding-whip. 
''It  is  all  of  a  piece  with  the  shiftless  style  of  the 
neighborhood.  Just  let  me  get  out  of  this  box,  and 
I  '11  expose  him ;  I  '11  write  to  the  papers  about  it ; 
it's  simply  a  disgrace  to  the  State!" 

Newbold  had  been  sitting  with  slackened  rein  and 
dreamy  eye,  taking  in  all  the  candid  beauty  of  an 
afternoon  in  spring  in  this  remote  and  dewy  spot. 
He  started,  looked  at  Hoyt,  a  quizzical  gleam  came 
into  his  eyes,  and  Hoyt  laughed,  albeit  unwillingly. 

Just  then  Hoyt,  the  more  far-sighted  of  the  two 
men,  saw  a  slight  figure  detach  itself  from  the  black 
shadow  of  a  belt  of  pines  behind  the  ferry-house, 
and,  followed  by  another,  come  running  to  the  bank. 
These  were  a  boy  and  a  girl,  it  soon  appeared,  and  a 
shrill  halloo  across  the  swelling  flood  gave  comfort- 
ing assurance  of  relief  at  hand.  To  the  surprise  of 
the  spectators,  the  creaking  hulk  of  the  ferry-boat  was 
at  once  boarded  by  the  two  children,  and  was  swung 
out,  not  unskilfully,  into  the  eddying  stream. 

''  By  Jove  ! "  Hoyt  commented,  admiringly, ''  the 
girl  is  doing  the  chief  part  of  the  work.  There  's 
11 


122  CROW'S   NEST 

pluck  for  you,  aud  muscle  too,  Newbold !  Look  at 
the  heave  of  that  current,  will  you !  Three  cheers  for 
the  ferryman's  daughter ! " 

Steadily  the  boat  came  on.  Three  cheers  were  given 
with  a  will,  and,  for  answer,  they  could  see  the  girl 
nod  her  head  in  quiet  recognition. 

"  This  is  no  ferryman's  daughter,"  Newbold  whis- 
pered, as  the  boat  touched  shore. 

She  was  about  sixteen,  slender  and  shapely.  Her 
hat,  trimmed  with  an  oak-leaf  wreath,  had  fallen  back 
from  her  flushed  face,  and  now,  her  task  done,  she 
stood,  her  beautiful  bare  hands  clasped  lightly  across 
her  waist,  her  breath  coming  quickened  by  exertion. 
The  boy,  her  comrade,  was  a  handsome,  spirited  crea- 
ture, a  few  years  younger.  Both  young  people  were 
of  that  luxurious  type  of  beauty  one  sees  on  the  mel- 
low canvases  of  Lely  and  his  fellows,  having  the  rich 
coloring,  the  short  upper  lip  that  seems  haughty  when 
in  repose,  the  cleft  chin,  the  well-dilated  nostrils  ;  and 
both  were  clad  in  clumsily  made  garments  of  striped 
blue-and-white  domestic  cotton. 

"Now,  mind,  Pink,  I  'm  to  ride  your  Bonnie  Bess 
to-morrow,  without  the  curb,  for  letting  you  have 
first  turn,"  the  lad  exclaimed ;  and  at  once  his  fancy 
was  taken  by  Hoyt's  mare,  who  had  begun  to  give 
every  evidence  in  her  power  that  she  disliked  board- 
ing the  ferry-boat. 

"  Let  me  get  on  her,  please,  while  you  lead  her  on, 
sir,"  he  pleaded.  Hoyt  laughed,  and  acquiesced.  Quick 
as  thought,  the  boy  was  in  the  saddle  and  had  ga- 
thered up  the  reins.  The  mare  entered  a  final  protest 
by  rearing  violently,  while  her  rider,  deftly  slipping 


CROW'S   NEST  123 

from  the  saddle,  stood,  with  one  foot  in  the  stirrup, 
neck  to  neck  with  the  dancing  beast.  Before  Hoyt 
could  interpose,  the  mare  had  touched  ground,  and  the 
boy  was  back  again  on  his  perch,  a  bright,  wild  gleam 
in  his  laughing  eye.  With  some  difficulty  our  travel- 
ers succeeded  in  obtaining  permission  to  share  the 
labor  of  ferrying  the  boat  back. 

'^  Well,  if  you  want  to,"  the  girl  said,  with  evident 
reluctance.  *'  But  Dolph  and  I  so  seldom  get  a  chance. 
Old  Stubblefield  's  afraid  papa  will  hear  of  it,  I  sup- 
pose ;  but  we  made  him  show  us  how.  Stubblefield  's 
gone  to  mill,  you  know.  Very  few  people  come  this 
way,  and  Dolph  and  I  just  happened  to  be  in  the 
woods  over  there  when  we  heard  you  call.  I  suppose 
you  came  by  way  of  Pohick  ?  " 

Here  the  boy  broke  in  eagerly,  with  a  certain  pride: 
"My  sister  has  been  to  Pohick  once,  when  she  went  to 
the  springs  with  Aunt  Betty  Alexander.  I  'ra  going 
some  day." 

Hoyt  laughed  his  jolly  laugh.  Newbold  smiled  at 
the  thought  of  the  prim,  sleepy  little  town  upon  the 
turnpike  road,  where  the  railway  station  and  tele- 
graph office  seemed  as  much  out  of  place  as  a  staring 
new  label  on  a  worn  leather  trunk.  ''Each  mortal 
has  his  Carcassonne,"  he  murmured.  And  then  came 
the  bustle  of  getting  ashore,  of  depositing  the  absent 
Stubblefield's  fee  in  a  long-necked  yellow  gourd  hung 
behind  a  broken  pane  in  the  window  of  the  red 
cottage. 

"Now  add  one  more  to  your  acts  of  friendship," 
Newbold  said ;  "  put  us  in  the  road  leading  to  Colonel 
Hunter's  house — I  believe  they  call  it  Crow's  Nest." 


124  CROW'S    NEST 

Dolph's  laugh  made  the  echoes  ring.  "  Why,  that 's 
our  house.  You  just  keep  along  this  wood  road  to 
the  right  for  about  three  miles,  and  we  '11  meet  you  at 
the  red  gate.  Come  along.  Pink;  it  's  only  a  mile 
across  the  fields,  our  way.  Let 's  see  who  '11  be  over 
that  fence  first." 

They  were  off  like  a  flash,  and  Newbold's  eyes  met 
Hoyt's. 

"Original  specimens  of  country  gentry,  are  n't 
they?"  Hoyt  remarked.  ''I  say,  Newbold,  it 's  getting 
deucedly  on  into  the  afternoon  for  a  man  who  's  had 
no  lunch." 

They  plunged  into  the  recesses  of  a  cathedral- vaulted 
pine  forest,  and  Newbold  fell  to  musing  and  murmur- 
ing aloud. 

"  What  did  you  say?"  asked  Hoyt. 

"I  was  merely  asking  you  a  question." 

"  I  did  n't  catch  it." 

''  It  is  this,"  answered  his  companion : 

"Have  you  seen  a  bright  lily  grow, 

Before  rude  hands  have  touched  it  ? 
Have  you  marked  but  the  fall  of  the  snow, 

Before  the  soil  hath  smutched  it  ? 
Have  you  felt  the  wool  of  the  beaver, 

Or  swan's-down  ever  f 
Or  have  smelt  of  the  bud  of  the  brier, 

Or  the  nard  in  the  fire  ? 
Or  have  tasted  the  bag  of  the  bee  ? 

O !  so  white,  O !  so  soft,  O !  so  sweet  is  she ! " 

"  I  call  that  a  great  many  questions,"  Hoyt  rejoined. 

At  the  red  gate  Dolph  was  in  waiting.     His  sister 

had  gone  on,  he  said,  to  announce  their  coming  to 


CROW'S    NEST  125 

his  father.  Both  men  breathed  freer  on  emerging 
from  the  wide  reach  of  dusky  pine  woods. 

A  low  stone  house,  straggling  along  the  summit 
of  a  bleak  hill,  was  Crow's  Nest.  A  square  porch  in 
front,  buUt  of  heavy  timbers ;  many  small  windows, 
set  with  greenish  panes  of  glass ;  a  stack  of  outside 
chimneys;  and,  on  either  side  of  the  door,  two  grim 
cedars,  whose  long  arms  year  by  year  grew  more  long 
and  gaunt,  until  they  tapped  the  garret  window- 
panes.  Such  were  the  distinguishing  features  of 
this  old  Virginian  house,  around  which  hung  an  air 
of  pensive  melancholy,  as  if  it  had  long  since  become 
resigned  to  settle  down  into  the  gray  of  declining 
3^ears.  The  visitors  looked  in  vain  for  signs  of  femi- 
nine occupancy,  a  muslin  curtain  or  a  flower-pot.  All 
was  chill,  silent,  and  unsympathizing,  quite  out  of 
keeping  with  rosy  Dolph,  who  was  then  engaged  in 
consigning  their  horses  to  a  ragged  negro  groom. 

"  Pink  scolded  me,"  he  said  confidingly,  as  he  ush- 
ered his  guests  within.  ''  She  said  I  never  warned 
you  about  Black  Jack." 

"  Black  Jack !  Is  he  a  desperado  who  haunts  your 
woods "? "   Newbold  naturally  asked. 

"  It  's  our  mud-hole,"  the  boy  answered  innocently. 
"Just  outside  the  red  gate,  don't  you  remember! 
You  might  have  gone  round,  but  it  is  right  far  to  go 
round.  I  expect  you  'd  rather  have  come  right  on, 
had  n't  you  ?  Black  Jack 's  mighty  bad  in  the  spring ! " 
And  he  wistfully  surveyed  the  nether  garments  of  his 
guests. 

The  inner  hall  of  Crow's  Nest  was  long  and  nar- 
row, the  walls  hung  with  fishing-rods,  with   guns. 


126  CROW'S   NEST 

with  foxes'  pads  and  brushes,  with  bows  and  arrows 
rudely  made.  A  few  smoke-stained  ancestors  in  red 
coats,  and  their  ladies  in  court-trains  and  toupets, 
hung  near  the  ceiling.  Along  the  skirting-board  was 
ranged  a  row  of  men's  boots,  and  a  pair  of  antlers 
held  men's  hats  in  every  stage  of  disrepair.  A  half- 
dozen  smiling  negroes  jostled  one  another  in  the 
background ;  and,  starting  from  the  wainscoting,  it 
would  seem,  appeared  an  odd,  old-time  figure,  in 
study-gown  and  cap,  his  hair  worn  in  a  queue,  and 
his  wrinkled  face  lit  with  cordial  welcome. 

''Welcome  to  Crow's  Nest,  gentlemen,"  he  said 
heartily.  ''  I  am  pleased  to  see  that  Black  Jack  has 
let  you  off  the  worse  for  a  little  mud  only.  Black 
Jack  is  apt  to  be  formidable  at  this  season  of  the 
year.  Come  into  the  dining-room,  pray,  and  take 
something  after  your  ride.  You,  Trip,  go  tell  your 
aunt  Judy  to  hurry  with  her  supper." 

To  present  a  letter  of  introduction  seemed  a  mere 
matter  of  moonshine  in  the  face  of  such  a  greeting. 
Our  travelers  were  soon  conducted  to  a  chill  dimity- 
draped  chamber,  with  a  bed  of  state  in  either  end  of 
it,  where  they  found  a  small  imp  of  darkness  already 
blowing  up  a  shovelful  of  embers  beneath  some  light- 
wood  knots  upon  the  hearth.  A  couple  of  beaming 
black  boys  were  on  hand  to  brush  and  polish,  and 
even  Hoyt's  reluctant  spirit  began  to  own  the  magic 
of  hearty  welcome. 

In  a  scanty  room  below,  paneled  with  dark  wood 
and  dotted  with  profile  likenesses  cut  from  sticking- 
plaster  and  pasted  on  a  ground  of  white,  together 
with  faded  Poonah  paintings,  pendent  ostrich  eggs. 


'you  tvill  please  hand  miss  hunter  in  to  supper." 


CROW'S   NEST  127 

and  many  a  smiling  miniature,  they  presently  found 
the  daughter  of  the  house.  Pink  had  put  on  a  mus- 
lin gown,  and  tied  her  truant  locks  beneath  a  scarlet 
bow.  She  received  the  two  men  without  affectation, 
though  a  charming  blush  settled  in  each  cheek.  She 
did  the  honors  by  showing  relics  of  the  days  of 
George  and  Anne  that  warmed  the  cockles  of  New- 
bold's  antiquarian  heart.  In  came  the  Colonel,  in  a 
well-bi'ushed  suit  of  black  small-clothes ;  and  a  clang- 
ing bell  announced  the  family  meal. 

"  You  will  please  hand  Miss  Hunter  in  to  supper, 
sir,"  the  old  gentleman  said,  with  a  quaint  wave  of 
the  hand.  As  Newbold  obeyed,  he  fancied  himself  on 
tip-toe  leading  out  a  partner  to  the  minuet ! 

As  in  most  Virginian  houses,  the  dining-room  at 
Crow's  Nest  was  the  most  habitable  spot  about  the 
house.  The  light  came  through  a  number  of  nar- 
row windows  draped  in  turkey-red.  Doors  opened 
and  shut  continually  to  admit  processions  of  small 
darkies  bearing  offerings  of  smoking  bread  and 
cakes.  Over  a  porch-shed  thus  disclosed  grew  a  lilac- 
bush  in  full  bloom.  On  the  high  mantel-shelf  stood 
home-made  "dips,"  in  massive  silver  candlesticks, 
ready  to  be  lighted  when  the  late  amber  daylight 
should  fade.  At  one  end  of  the  long  room  stood  a 
sideboard  covered  with  fine  old  silver  plate.  Cut- 
glass  decanters,  containing  certain  mysterious  golden 
fluids,  were  open  to  every  new-comer.  Upon  the 
table  was  seen  the  inevitable  ham,  bronzed  with  bak- 
ing, fragrant  with  cloves,  drenched  in  a  bath  of  old 
Madeira.  Grouped  round  it  were  broiled  chickens, 
corn-pone  and  sally-lunn,  jams  and    jellies,   and  a 


128  CROW'S   NEST 

host  of  like  dainties.  At  the  four  corners  stood  sil- 
ver jugs  of  cream  ;  and  a  brave  array  of  blue  Canton 
china  adorned  the  bare  mahogany  of  the  shining 
board.  On  guard  behind  his  master's  chair  was  an 
old  mulatto,  Jupiter,  who,  having  grown  gray  and 
nearly  blind  in  the  service  of  Crow's  Nest  dining- 
room,  was  still  (after  Aunt  Judy,  the  housekeeper) 
ruler  of  every  festival,  his  children's  children  aiding 
him  in  attendance  at  the  table.  Behind  the  tea-board, 
where  reigned  a  large  silver  urn  bedecked  with  the 
drop-and-garland  of  Queen  Anne's  time,  the  young 
hostess  took  her  seat,  having  in  waiting  at  her 
elbow  an  old  colored  woman  with  a  kindly  wrinkled 
face  and  clad  in  spotless  homespun.  A  spectacle 
always  amusing  to  Northern  eyes  was  the  hero  of 
the  peacock's-feather  fly-brush,  a  smaU,  serious  darky, 
mounted  on  a  three-legged  stool,  whose  plaited  twigs 
of  hair  stood  erect  with  awe  at  his  own  importance. 

As  the  guests  entered  the  room,  a  number  of  tall, 
swarthy,  black-bearded  loungers  rose  up  to  give  them 
greeting. 

"  My  sons,  gentlemen,"  said  Colonel  Hunter,  with  a 
wave  of  the  hand,  scattering  the  while  a  brace  of 
fawning  hounds  from  about  his  knees.  Six  of  these 
stalwart  youths  there  were,  ranging  in  age  from  eight- 
een to  twenty-eight.  Shy  and  slow  of  speech,  awk- 
ward and  low-voiced,  these  props  of  a  decaying  house 
answered  respectively  to  the  names  of  Ludwell,  Cat- 
lett,  Peachy,  Noblet,  Bushrod,  and  Horatio.  Only 
the  family  Bible  knew  how  many  additional  high- 
stepping  titles  were  allotted  to  each.  The  same  chron- 
icle bore  witness  to  the  fact  that,  at  the  outset  of  her 


CROW'S    NEST  129 

career,  the  sole  daughter  of  Crow's  Nest  had  been 
made  to  stagger  under  the  combination  of  Edmonia 
Septimia  Demoretta  Fanshawe  Crump !  This  burden, 
thanks  to  her  negro  "mammy,"  had  been  speedily  light- 
ened to  the  infant  sufferer. 

''  Come  to  its  own  mammy,  den,  my  lamb  !  De  Lawd 
knows,  she  don't  favor  old  miss,  nor  old  marse  nuther 
— bress  His  name !  My  baby 's  dess  as  purty  as  a  pink." 

And  the  solitary  Pink's  petals  had  opened  day  by 
day  until  her  maiden  fragrance  filled  the  old  gray 
house. 

Three  years  after  Pink's  arrival  had  appeared  a 
seventh  boy.  Despite  his  fair  loveliness,  rivaling  that 
of  his  sister,  Mrs.  Hunter  seemed  to  take  alarm  at  the 
appearance  of  another  recruit  to  her  husband's  line 
of  male  successors.  She  had  made  jam  and  bound 
up  bruises  and  knit  stockings  for  so  many  boys  that 
the  vehement  protest  might  have  been  forgiven  her. 
At  any  rate,  she  died  at  Dolph's  birth,  and  was  laid  to 
rest  under  a  lean  slab  already  gathering  lichens  in 
the  family  burial-plot  upon  a  neighboring  hillside. 

Dolph's  name  was  a  parental  tribute  to  that  ancient 
fascinator,  Mrs.  Radcliffe  —  an  abbreviation  of  Udol- 
pho,  of  fame  for  mysteries.  After  bestowing  upon 
his  last-born  this  mark  of  attention,  the  old  gen- 
tleman went  back  to  his  books,  finding  metal  far 
more  attractive  in  the  rows  of  mildewed  volumes  — 
yellow-skinned  or  black- jacketed  duodecimos,  six-vol- 
umed  editions  of  wearisome  old  fiction,  dusty  piles  of 
bygone  magazines,  all  heaped  on  the  shelves  of  a  so- 
called  '' office"  in  the  yard, —  a  damp,  low-studded 
room,  with  a  mossy  roof  garnished  with  stonecrop. 


130  CROW'S   NEST 

In  this  asylum,  chiefly,  what  remained  of  old  Oc- 
tavius  Hunter's  days  were  gliding  by.  He  was  con- 
tent to  look  at  the  theater  of  life  through  the  large 
end  of  his  glass.  In  his  eyes,  the  world,  outside  of  his 
inheritance  of  five  thousand  acres  surrounding  Crow's 
Nest,  had  subsided  into  vulgar  commonplace  when 
certain  old-time  luminaries  in  Virginian  politics,  most 
of  them  his  blood-relations,  bad  become  extinct.  To 
prattle  about  the  past  glories  of  his  family,  who  were 
tide-water  Virginians  of  the  old,  aristocratic,  profuse 
class, —  hand-in-glove  with  the  noblemen  sent  over  to 
govern  the  colony,  and  themselves  descendants  of  a 
distinguished  English  line, — was  the  solace  of  his  life. 
The  fine  old  river-places,  furnished  and  equipped  with 
English  luxuries  at  a  time  when  Crow's  Nest  was  part 
of  a  dense  virgin  forest,  had  passed  out  of  the  extrav- 
agant bands  of  Colonel  Hunter's  predecessors,  and 
there  remained  to  him  only  this  remote  lodge  in  the 
wilderness.  Here  he  was  content  to  dwell,  reverting 
to  the  days  of  his  gay  bachelor  life,  when  he  was  an 
ornament  of  the  State  militia,  as  also  an  active  mem- 
ber of  the  Fraternity  of  Free  and  Accepted  Masons 
in  the  neighboring  town  of  Alexandria.  Standing  on 
the  hearth-rug,  his  spindle  legs  in  black  tights  a  little 
separated,  a  silver  snuff-box  in  his  hand,  his  parch- 
ment face  glowing  with  animation,  the  Colonel  would 
discourse  to  you  by  the  hour  about  how  his  grand- 
father rode  to  hounds  with  Washington,  and  how  his 
aunt  Betty  had  danced  with  the  Greneral  at  a  birth- 
night  ball.  So  in  politics,  the  Colonel  would  have 
nothing  modern.  The  consideration  of  party  topics, 
just  then  agitating  the  broad  extent  of  the  United 


CROW'S    NEST  131 

States,  was  of  far  less  moment  than  the  action  taken 
by  Washington  about  the  free  navigation  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi River,  or  Jefferson's  renunciation  of  his  fa- 
vorite Embargo  Act.  If,  after  repeated  efforts,  one 
succeeded  in  dislodging  the  Colonel  from  his  arch^o- 
logical  eminence  and  bringing  him  to  the  considera- 
tion of  present  events,  "Egad,  sir,"  he  would  say,  "it 's 
arrant  nonsense.  Talk  about  breaking  up  the  Union 
that  was  founded  by  the  General !  It  can't  be  done, 
sir.  Of  one  thing  you  may  be  certain  —  Virginia, 
Mother  of  Presidents,  will  stand  firm,  sir.  Did  I  tell 
you  of  that  little  anecdote  my  father  had  from  Light 
Horse  Harry  Lee,  about  the  General  ?  "  The  Wash- 
ington intimacy  was  a  source  of  undying  pride.  The 
father  of  the  present  owner  of  Crow's  Nest  had  been 
a  paU-bearer  of  the  great  republican,  and  a  brass- 
bound  clock  upon  the  landing  of  the  stairs  still  kept 
record  of  the  hour  of  Washington's  death,  the  hands 
remaining  as  they  had  been  set  shortly  after  the  oc- 
casion of  that  national  calamity. 

The  Colonel  had  married  late  in  life,  and  the 
claims  of  a  numerous  family  had  not  greatly  incom- 
moded the  quiet  current  of  his  thought.  In  those 
days  children  had  a  comfortable  fashion  of  growing 
up  for  themselves,  untroubled  by  the  endless  aids  to 
progress  requisite  now.  The  boys  hunted,  trapped, 
and  fished,  took  what  learning  they  chose  to  receive 
from  a  threadbare  tutor  forming  part  of  the  estab- 
lishment, declined  the  college  course  proffered  them 
by  their  father,  and  developed  —  as  we  have  seen! 
Dolph  took  to  his  book  eagerly,  and  he  and  Pink  and 
the.tutor  had  long,  delightful  seances  in  the  school- 


132  CROW'S   NEST 

room — a  round-tower  dependence  of  the  house,  with 
stucco  walls  and  a  conical  roof,  dropped  as  if  by 
accident  in  the  yard,  near  the  dining-room  door. 

Pink's  childhood  was  a  happy  one.  She  lived 
abroad  outside  her  school-hours  —  the  housekeeper's 
scepter,  dropped  upon  Mrs.  Hunter's  demise,  having 
been  triumphantly  snatched  up  by  Aunt  Judy,  the 
household  autocrat.  Pink  was  put  on  a  barebacked 
horse  to  ride  to  water  when  she  could  hardly  walk, 
and  soon  after  learned  to  climb  trees  like  a  squirrel. 
The  six  big  brothers  were  kind  to  both  motherless 
children,  who  formed  the  romance  of  their  monoto- 
nous lives.  They  petted  them,  broke  colts  for  them, 
brought  home  trophies  of  the  hunt  for  them,  from 
an  owl's  nest  to  a  fox's  brush,  saved  for  them  the 
earliest  nuts  and  persimmons,  and,  at  Pink's  bid- 
ding, would  smooth  their  ruffled  manes  and  check 
the  rioting  of  their  speech  at  times  of  family  re- 
union. 

Such  was  the  circle  at  Crow's  Nest,  now  recruited 
by  our  two  travelers.  Whatever  curiosity  they  might 
have  experienced  was  soon  merged  into  a  solid  enjoy- 
ment of  Aunt  Judy's  good  things.  A  Virginian  hot 
sapper,  or  "  high  tea,"  as  it  would  now  be  called,  was 
a  thing  to  be  remembered  ! 

"  We  missed  the  canvasbacks  in  Baltimore,"  New- 
bold  said,  with  a  sigh  to  their  memory,  even  amid 
such  profusion. 

''Very  savory  eating  are  canvasbacks,"  said  his 
host.  "  But  you  must  know  the  cook,  sir.  '  Let  them 
fly  twice  through  the  fire,  and  eat  them  when  singed,' 
was  a  saying  of  my  maternal  aunt,  Mrs.  Peggy  Mar- 


CROW'S   NEST  133 

shall,  of  Bush  Hill.  No  currant  jelly  or  wine  sauce, 
either.  Did  you  ever  hear  this  little  incident  of  Gen- 
eral Washington's  latter  days,  sir?  He  went  once 
with  my  grandfather  into  Gadsby's  tavern  in  Alex- 
andria. Gadsby  met  them,  rubbing  his  hands,  with 
the  announcement  that  he  had  just  received  a  prime 
lot  of  fat  eanvasbacks.  'Very  good,  Mr.  Gadsby,' 
rejoined  his  Excellency,  'Give  us  some  eanvasbacks, 
a  chafing-dish,  some  hominy  and  a  bottle  of  j'our 
best  Madeira,  and  I  '11  warrant  you  '11  hear  no  grum- 
bling from  us ! '  Ha,  ha !  Have  a  slice  of  this  ham, 
Mr.  Newbold.  Jupiter,  hand  Mr.  Hoyt's  plate.  Come, 
no  refusal.  Of  course  you  must  —  a  thin  slice  of 
Crow's  Nest  ham  never  hurt  anybody." 

Jupiter  handed  the  plate ;  and,  in  the  act  of  carv- 
ing, the  Colonel  held  his  knife  in  air,  to  explain  how 
to  make  a  really  good  ham. 

"  Mo'  waffles,  sir,"  said  a  piping  voice  at  the  guest's 
elbow.  Newbold  wanted  to  groan.  The  time  for  pre- 
serves and  cream  had  not  yet  come,  and  already  his 
satiated  spirit  cried  "Enough." 

One  who  has  encountered  the  pressure  of  Virgin- 
ian hospitality  knows  that  there  is  nothing  for  it  but 
to  submit,  body  and  baggage.  Hoyt  and  Newbold 
made  a  feeble  stand  against  extending  their  stay  at 
Crow's  Nest;  but,  betimes  next  morning,  a  cart 
drawn  by  a  large  cream-colored  mule  and  driven  by 
a  negro  lad  (whose  garments,  made  of  guano-bags, 
commended  Smith's  fertilizer  to  the  public  gaze),  set 
off  in  pursuit  of  their  luggage  at  the  tavern  in  Po- 
hick.  Thus  beset,  our  travelers  resigned  themselves 
to  a  fortnight's  loitering.  Hoyt,  an  enthusiastic 
12 


134  CROW'S   NEST 

sportsman,  found  his  chief  amusement  in  the  saddle, 
under  convoy  of  the  stalwart  six,  or  in  roaming  the 
woods  and  fields.  Newbold  derived  endless  enter- 
tainment from  the  life,  the  place,  the  people.  Dolph 
and  Pink  led  him  captive  everywhere.  Aunt  Judy 
was  proud  to  show  her  various  departments  of  bak- 
ing, brewing,  poultry-raising,  hog-fattening,  spin- 
ning, and  weaving.  He  had  called  upon  the  new  calf 
of  the  red-and- white  cow,  he  had  seen  Judy  make 
her  wonderful  ^'beat"  biscuit;  he  had  rifled  her 
quince  preserves  in  company  with  his  allies.  He 
liked  best  of  all,  perhaps,  to  pass  hours  in  the  old 
''office."  In  this  retreat,  common  to  most  Virginian 
houses,  the  uncertain  light  came  through  small  panes 
of  glass,  shadowed  without  by  a  massive  clump  of 
box-bushes  causing  dusk  to  fall  within  at  noonday, 
and  affording  sanctuary  where  Aunt  Judy  dared 
not  pursue  her  fowls  fleeing  for  their  lives  from 
block  and  hatchet.  Above  the  door,  where,  enter- 
ing, the  visitor  plunged  headlong  down  an  unsus- 
pected step,  grew  syringas,  gnarled  and  ancient,  with 
hoary  bark  and  sparse  flowers.  Sometimes  a  nest  of 
young  chimney-swallows,  loosened  by  the  rain,  would 
fall  upon  the  hearth,  "pieping"  for  human  sympathy. 
Hounds  wandered  in  and  out  the  door ;  mice  sported 
on  the  book-shelves ;  not  infrequently  a  young  heifer 
sauntered  down  the  flagged  walk  to  set  her  forefeet 
on  the  mossy  step  and  fix  her  serious  gaze  upon  the 
occupant.  Here  Newbold  liked  to  sit,  opening  moldy 
envelopes,  exploring  mouse-eaten  documents,  some 
bearing  proud  armorial  seals,  and  taking  notes  from 
a  family  correspondence  extending  back  to  the  time 


CROW'S   NEST  135 

of  England's  merry  monarch.  The  spring  days  glided 
by,  till,  on  the  eve  of  their  departure,  Pink  summoned 
both  her  guests  to  a  final  round  of  "the  quarter." 
Here,  a  number  of  whitewashed  cabins,  each  boasting 
its  separate  patch  of  garden,  growing  corn,  sweet  po- 
tatoes, tomatoes,  onions,  and  cabbage,  were  embow- 
ered in  foliage  and  connected  by  a  broad  walk  swept 
as  clean  as  the  deck  of  a  man-of-war.  A  pleasant 
hum  of  business  struck  the  ear.  Through  open  doors 
were  seen  wheels,  looms,  hat-plaiting,  basket-making. 
One  or  two  negro  patriarchs,  with  heads  like  ripe  cot- 
ton-bolls, sat  blinking  in  the  sun  before  their  doors. 
On  the  grass,  on  the  walks,  everywhere  under  foot, 
were  sportive  pickaninnies  clad  in  a  single  garment. 
As  the  visitors  passed  down  the  line,  smiles,  bows, 
curtseys,  and  cordial  good-bys  were  showered  upon 
the  young  men,  who  had  won  a  host  of  admirers  in 
"the  quarter." 

Newbold  lingered  behind  the  others,  and  looked 
back.  It  was  a  fine  elastic  day,  full  of  sweet,  homely 
smells  from  wood  and  meadow  and  fresh-turned  fur- 
rows of  the  earth, — a  day  when  the  air  "nimbly  and 
sweetly  recommends  itself  unto  the  gentle  senses." 
From  the  farm-hands,  at  work  on  the  slopes  bordered 
by  dark  lines  of  pine  forest,  came  cheerful  sounds 
mellowed  by  distance;  in  "the  quarter"  chattering 
tongues  were  heard,  with  the  crowing  of  cocks  and 
the  clamorous  joy  of  hens  who  had  just  acquitted 
themselves  of  their  diurnal  duty  to  society.  It  was 
all  peaceful  and  pleasant  enough.  While  Newbold 
mused  with  regret  over  their  approaching  departure, 
he  heard  a  cry  as  if  of  pain  from  Pink,  who,  with  her 


136  CROW'S   NEST 

two  companions,  Hoyt  and  Dolph,  had  disappeared 
down  a  path  leading  to  an  isolated  cottage.  Newbold 
quickly  followed,  to  be  met  by  all  three  of  the  miss- 
ing young  people,  Dolph  having  his  arm  around  Pink, 
who  looked  pale  and  terrified. 

''  It  is  nothing,"  Hoyt  explained.  "  We  were  idiotic 
enough  to  go  into  that  old  witch's  cabin  yonder  to 
have  our  fortunes  told;  and  the  woman  was  either 
drunk  or  crazy,  I  don't  know  which,  and  frightened 
Miss  Hunter  with  some  of  her  nonsensical  sayings  — 
that 's  all." 

"  Oh !  no,"  cried  Pink.  "Aunt  Sabra  never  was  like 
that  before — never."  And  she  shuddered  involun- 
tarily, clinging  to  her  brother. 

They  had  passed  into  the  glen,  a  broad  grassy  val- 
ley, strewn  with  boulders  of  rock  set  in  ferns,  where 
dogwood-trees  in  full  blossom  made  a  blaze  of  white 
radiance  in  the  shadow. 

"Sit  down  upon  one  of  these  royal  rocks,"  New- 
bold  said  to  the  young  girl  gently.  "Tell  me  all 
about  your  fortune-hunting,  and  we  will  laugh  at  it 
together." 

But  Pink  could  not  laugh.  She  looked  from  Hoyt 
to  her  brother,  but  did  not  speak.  Hoyt,  strangely 
enough  for  him,  seemed  to  labor  under  a  rare  spell  of 
embarrassment.  Only  Dolph  laughed,  like  the  light- 
hearted  lad  he  was. 

"All  this  because  Aunt  Sabra  had  what  Mammy 
Psyche  calls  the  highstrikes.  Pink.  It  is  n't  worth 
worrying  about.  After  all,  I  am  the  fellow  to  be  wor- 
ried, am  I  not,  Mr.  Hoyt?"  and  the  lad  looked  up  into 
his  friend's  face  with  a  trustful  smile. 


CROW'S   NEST  137 

•'Oh!  but  she  said  —  she  said/'  Pink  found  voice  to 
whisper,  "that  Dolph  was  —  walking — across — his 
grave ! " 

"And  that  J,  since  Miss  Hunter  is  too  polite  to  con- 
tinue the  prophecy,"  Hoyt  added,  "that  I  am  to  be  the 
grave-digger,  or  words  to  that  effect.  Pray,  Miss  Hun- 
ter, don't  let  this  stupid  accident  mar  the  pleasure  of 
our  last  day  at  Crow's  Nest.  Dolph  here  has  shown 
that  he  believes  in  me.  Won't  you,  too,  be  my 
friend  ?  " 

To  Newbold's  surprise,  the  color  in  Pink's  face,  as 
she  placed  her  hand  in  Hoyt's,  deepened  to  burning 
crimson. 


II 

Three  years  later,  in  February  of  1863,  an  officer 
of  the  Union  army,  representing  a  brigade  recently 
stationed  at  Three  Fork  Mills,  in  the  county  of  Fair- 
fax, Virginia,  accompanied  by  his  orderly,  rode  into 
the  half- deserted  village  of  Pohick. 

Railway  communication  with  that  enlightened  cen- 
ter had  long  since  been  cut  off.  The  inhabitants  nowa- 
days would  have  been  as  much  startled  by  the  sight 
of  a  locomotive  as  were  the  red  men  who  first  beheld 
one  on  the  far  Western  plains.  Many  of  the  Pohick 
people  had  packed  a  few  belongings  and  hastily  gone 
over  the  border  to  share  the  weal  or  woe  of  the  Con- 
federacy. Those  who  remained  would  cower  behind 
the  closed  green  shutters  of  their  frame-houses  and 
listen  to  the  clang  of  sabers  in  their  one  straggling 
street,  not  knowing  whether  this  meant  the  advent  of 


138  CROW'S   NEST 

friend  or  foe — for  the  little  town  occupied  debatable 
ground.  Some  days  the  people  would  wake  up  to  see  a 
splendid  body  of  Union  cavalry,  all  a-glitter  with  brave 
uniforms  and  polished  steel,  dash  gallantly  on  and 
away  into  the  dangerous  region  beyond;  and  again, 
be  roused  from  their  beds  at  night  to  give  food  and 
warmth  to  a  weather-beaten  band  of  ragged  troopers 
in  gray,  who  ate  and  drank  like  famished  folk,  who 
for  nights  past  had  slept  by  snatches  when  and  where 
they  coiild,  wrapped  in  blankets  on  the  snow,  and  for 
days  had  lived  in  the  saddle,  scouring  their  desolate 
outposts,  with  ears  alert  and  hands  on  pistol-butt ! 

More  than  once  had  the  main  street  of  Pohick  been 
startled  by  the  flash  of  a  sudden  fusillade,  prelude 
to  a  skirmish  short  and  sharp.  The  good  citizens 
watched  with  clasped  hands  and  bated  breath,  and 
presently,  when  the  tide  of  battle  flowed  back  from 
before  their  portals,  leaving  stranded  there  its  flotsam 
and  jetsam  of  dead  and  wounded  men,  the  sealed 
doors  flew  open,  and  friend  and  foe  were  borne  within 
to  be  tended  till  reclaimed. 

Newbold  had  been  among  the  earliest  volunteers 
for  the  Union,  and  his  years  of  experience  in  the  in- 
vading army,  although  spent  elsewhere  than  in  these 
well-remembered  haunts,  had  pretty  well  prepared 
him  for  the  reception  his  blue  uniform  might  expect 
to  encounter  here.  He  had  anxiously  awaited  an  op- 
portunity to  ride  over  to  Pohick  and  make  inquiry 
concerning  certain  old  friends ;  but  the  opportunity 
had  been  slow  in  coming.  A  lull  in  border  hostilities 
enabled  him  to  pursue  his  investigations  with  tolera- 
ble security,  apart  from  the  general  possibility  of  a 


CROW'S   NEST  139 

stray  Black  Horseman's  bullet.     He  had  set  out  with 
a  strange  excitement  of  spirit,  amounting  almost  to 
exhilaration;  but  the  aspect  of  affairs  throughout  the 
country  where  he  passed  saddened,  then  thoroughly 
depressed  him.    There  was  hardly  anything  to  recall 
the  ride  of  three  years  before.     Nothing  can  so  trans- 
form a  landscape  as  the  fall  of  timber;  and  here  acres 
upon  acres  of  forest  giants  had  been  laid  low  under 
the  decree  of  war's  necessity.    For  the  most  part  the 
ground  was  bare  and  desolate,  but  here  and  there 
were  thickets  of  noble  trees  degraded  from  their  high 
estate.     Upon  hillsides  once  crowned  with  handsome 
homesteads  or  generous  farm-houses  were  now  mere 
skeletons  of  framework,  glaring  with   hollow   eye- 
sockets,  and  showing  ghastly  blackened  fronts,  round 
which  the  bleak  March  wind  swept  drearily.     Every- 
where fences  were  gone,  outbuildings  had  vanished, 
fields  and  orchards  were  laid  waste.     The  roads  were 
vast  mud-holes,  glazed  with  a  thin  crust  of  ice.    Pass- 
ing a  forsaken  camp-ground,  he  saw  the  earth  in- 
crusted  with  a  curious  mosaic  a  newly  shod  regiment 
had  made  by  casting  away  their  ancient  shoes  on 
breaking  camp.      For  companions,  during  miles  of 
this  melancholy  expedition,  besides  his  orderly,  he  had 
only  troops  of  crows,  whose  ominous  note  seemed  a 
warning  of  evil  to  come.     Last  of  all  in  the  list  of 
dispiriting  influences  were  the   unmarked    graves, 
seaming  the  hillsides,  scattered  in  the  valleys, —  mute 
records  they,  but  oh !  how  eloquent  of  recent  battle- 
fields,—though,  alas!  only  a  handful  beside  the  count- 
less number  of  those  that,  from  Shenandoah  to  the 
sea,  scar  the  green  bosom  of  beautiful  Virginia ! 


140  CROW'S   NEST 

Newbold  was  not  surprised  at  the  scanty  welcome 
he  received  on  drawing  rein  before  the  long  piazza  of 
the  tavern  at  Pohick.  The  hostler  who  appeared  had 
a  gray  look  of  chronic  apprehension  invading  the 
ebony  of  his  once  jolly  countenance ;  and  mine  host, 
who  of  old  had  swaggered  out  to  meet  and  pledge 
each  new-comer,  kept  to  himself  behind  the  ill-sup- 
plied bar  counter,  the  tide  of  his  courteous  verbosity 
curbed  and  leaking  out  only  in  necessary  monosylla- 
bles. The  tavern  folk,  and  those  few  who  appeared 
upon  the  thoroughfare,  were  all  guarded,  suspicious, 
anxious,  furtive.  Newbold's  hardly  veiled  eagerness 
of  inquiry  for  news  of  the  family  at  Crow's  Nest  met 
with  evasive  answers.  They  gave  him  such  plain 
food  and  drink  as  they  could  furnish,  and  left  him  to 
himself  in  the  long,  chill  dining-room,  with  its  last 
summer's  decoration  of  fly-specked  paper  garlands 
still  pendent  from  the  ceiling.  Newbold's  appetite 
was  not  unduly  tempted  by  the  cold  ham  and  scram- 
bled eggs,  the  adulterated  coffee  and  sharp  green 
pickles  set  before  him.  He  rose  up  in  a  moment  or 
two  and  strolled  out  into  the  stable-yard  to  give  an 
order  concerning  his  horse. 

Here  he  was  confronted  by  an  odd  object  he 
vaguely  remembered  to  have  seen  before.  It  was  a 
crippled  negro,  old  and  bent,  who,  broom  in  hand, 
was  sweeping  out  the  stalls.  At  Newbold's  greet- 
ing, the  old  fellow  looked  at  him,  first  curiously,  then 
with  sudden  intelligence  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  knows  you,  marse,  shua  'nuff ;  but  you  're 
fleshier  and  more  conformabler  den  you  was.  'Spect 
you  disremembers  Sam !     You  hain't  forgot  Crow's 


CROW'S   NEST  141 

Nes',  has  ye  ?  I  'se  Unk  Pilate's  brer,  wha'  ye  gin  a 
quarter  to,  de  day  ye  sont  me  'cross  Black  Jack  to 
open  de  red  gate." 

Like  a  flash  the  time  alluded  to  came  back.  New- 
bold  recalled  the  race  on  horseback  to  which  Pink 
had  challenged  him  —  the  quaint  old  fellow  gathering 
underbrush  along  the  roadside.  The  warm  balsamic 
air  of  the  pine  woods  seemed  to  blow  upon  him.  He 
saw  again  the  perfect  poise  of  her  light  figure  in  the 
saddle.     Her  ringing  laugh  echoed  in  his  ear. 

"Sam,  you  're  a  trump,"  he  said,  with  returning 
spirits.  "  Here  's  a  dollar  to  keep  the  quarter  com- 
pany. Now  tell  me  all  you  know  about  the  Crow's 
Nest  family,  and  how  you  came  to  be  wandering  off 
here  to  foreign  parts." 

The  old  negro  looked  around  him  apprehensively, 
as  his  long  claws  closed  upon  the  greenback,  and, 
shufaing,  he  led  the  way  into  a  disused  stall. 

"  Mighty  cur'us  times  dese,  marse.  Can't  tell  yer 
right  hand  w'at  yer  lef  han'  's  scrabblin'  arter,  'pears 
to  me." 

Here  he  paused,  coughed,  looked  wistfully  into 
Newbold's  face  and,  extending  his  lean  forefinger, 
touched  the  young  man's  shoulder-strap. 

"  Ye  would  n'  do  no  hurt,  sir,  to  my  ole  marse,  if 
ye  does  wear  dis?" 

''  I  would  n't  be  fit  to  wear  it  if  I  did,  Sam.  I  was 
a  stranger  and  he  took  me  in,  remember,"  Newbold 
answered  heartily.  '^  Come,  old  man,  out  with  your 
story.  They  are  well,  I  hope.  She  —  they  have  not 
been  troubled  in  their  home  ?  " 

"  Dey  's  only  tol'able,  Marse  Newbole,"  Sam  said. 


142  CROW'S   NEST 

scratching  his  head  dejectedly.  "  When  de  wah  f us' 
bruk  out,  'pears  like  ole  marse  kinder  disbelieved  de 
news.  He  'd  set  dere  in  de  office  day  in  and  day  out, 
and  w'en  de  papers  cum  twicet  a  week,  he  'd  git 
kinder  riled,  and  den  'pear  like  he  forgit  all  'bout  it. 
De  young  masters  dey  kep'  gittin'  mo'  an'  mo'  oneasy. 
Dey  confabulated  'mongst  deyselves  —  ole  marse  he 
kep'  on  disbelievin' —  twel  one  mornin'  de  boys  dess 
tuk  an'  lipt  ober  de  fence,  so  to  speak,  an'  jined  de 
army  ober  yonder  at  Manassy  Junction.  Ole  marse 
felt  bad  den,  I  recken,  w'en  he  found  dey  wor  n't  no- 
body to  fill  de  ole  house  'cep'  little  mistis  and  Marse 
Dolph.  He  tuk  to  walkin'  up  an'  down  de  flo',  and 
dar'  's  whar  he  is  now,  I  'spec's.  Little  mistis,  her  eyes 
tuk  to  shiuin'  brighter  'n  lightnin'-bugs,  en  she  and 
Marse  Dolph  never  rested  widout  dey  knowed  wot 
was  goin'  on  in  de  camp.  Dem  two  chillun  'u'd  ride 
down  to  de  Junction  ebery  chance  dey  got.  Little 
mistis  'u'd  keep  all  hands  at  wuk,  sewin,'  knittin'  en 
cookin'  for  de  soldiers.  Dey  wor  n't  nuthin'  talked 
'bout  but  marchin'  and  drillin'  and  paradin',  en  how 
General  Beauregard  was  a-gwine  to  save  de  Souf. 
Bymeby  cum  a  day  wha  nobodj^  down  our  way  ain't 
a-gwine  ter  forgit  dis  side  de  Judgmen'.  'T  was  hot 
summer  wedder  —  de  groun'  a-bakin'  wid  de  sun  — 
and  w'en  we  fust  heerd  dat  rumblin'  long  de  groun', 
bress  your  soul,  sir,  we  tuk  it  fur  de  las'  trump.  Ef 
de  fus'  clap  didn'  bounce  dat  ole  headen  Si  outen 
his  cheer,  en  turn  loose  de  wust  skeertes'  nigger  on 
our  plantashun  ! 

"  Den  dey  wuz  mo'  rumblin',  en  a  lot  of  sharp  crack- 
lin'  sounds  way  off  to  the  norf  of  us.     De  fus'  we 


CROW'S   NEST  143 

know,  dar  was  little  mistis  ruunin'  out  in  de  sun  wid- 
out  no  hat,  en  her  cheeks  as  red  as  peonies.  Marse 
Dolph  followed  arter  her,  and  tuk  her  hand.  Ole 
marse  kern  out  en  stood  on  the  poach,  lookin'  like 
he  walkin'  in  he  sleep.  De  cracklin'  set  in  louder  den 
befo',  en  little  mistis  she  screech  right  out  to  her  par 
dat  de  battle  was  begun.  She  looked  peart  enough 
to  'a'  fit  herself,  bress  your  soul;  and  de  boy  he  stand 
dere  wid  his  head  up,  en  his  ears  cocked  like  a  blood 
boss  w'en  he  hear  a  cone  drop  off  de  pine-trees.  'T  was 
a  mons'us  hot  day,  Marse  Newbole ;  en  w'en  night  kem 
nobody  on  dat  plantashun  dars  n't  go  to  bed  a-waitin' 
fur  de  news.  Bymeby  a  sojer  rode  up  de  wood  road. 
He  sot  his  boss  sorter  droopy,  en  w'en  one  o'  de  boys 
run  down  to  de  hoss-block,  dar  it  wuz  Marse  Noblet's 
own  sorrel,  and  dat  wuz  Marse  Noblet  ridin'  him.  He 
med  out  so  ez  to  walk  to  de  poach,  wha  old  marse 
kem  out  to  meet  him.  Den  Marse  Noblet  bruk  down 
like  a  baby,  en  if  Unk  Jupe  had  n't  bin  dar  to  ketch 
him,  he  'd  'a'  tumbled  flat.  '  De  res'  ob  'em  is  safe, 
father,'  wuz  what  he  med  out  fur  to  say,  sir, '  but  I  'se 
hit  in  de  side,'  en  den  he  fainted,  en  we  kerried  him 
into  de  charmber  wha  ole  miss  useter  sleep,  en  dere 
he  died  f o'  mornin'.  'T  was  de  blood-flow  det  finished 
him,  de  doctah  'lowed.  Dat  wuz  only  de  beginnin', 
sir.  Marse  Noblet  died  o'  Saturday,  en  o'  Sunday  de 
noise  o'  de  guns  begun  ag'in  bright  en  arlyj  en  all  day 
it  kept  rippin'  en  tearin'  like  mad.  Ole  marse  set  wid 
his  head  on  his  bre's'  by  Marse  Noblet's  body,  en  dem 
chilluns  did  all  de  orderin'  dey  wuz  to  be  did.  Sun 
up,  nex'  mornin',  shua  ez  you  baun,  sir,  ef  dar  wor  n't 
one  o'  dem  sort  o'  sick  hearses  a-turnin'  in  de  red  gatej 


144  CROW'S   NEST 

en  w'at  you  s'pose  in  it "?  Marse  Bushrod  en  Marse 
Catlett  hofe,  sir.  Dey  wuz  shot  dead  a-fightin'  side 
by  side." 

Sam  paused,  gave  a  gulp,  of  which  he  tried  to  seem 
ashamed,  while  in  spite  of  him  two  large  tears  ran 
down  his  cheeks.  These  he  quickly  brushed  away, 
using  a  wisp  of  hay  for  the  pui-pose,  and  resumed  his 
story. 

''Well,  sir,  Mammy  Lucy  she  laid  'em  out,  en  we 
buried  dem  free  alongside  dere  ma  in  de  cedar  patch; 
en  little  mistis  she  sont  into  Pohick  en  bought  some 
black  stuff  en  had  Mammy  Psyche  make  a  frock  fur 
her.  Ole  marse  quit  readin'  den,  en  tuk  to  walkin' 
up  en  down  de  flo'.  Marse  Dolph  he  seemed  fit  to 
bu'st,  kase  ther'  wor  n't  no  chance  fur  him  to  git  inter 
de  scrimmage  on  his  own  account.  He  en  little  miss 
could  n'  ride  about  like  dey  useter,  w'en  de  Yankees 
begun  to  scout  aroun'  permiscus;  en  dey  was  fearful 
restless  en  oneasy.  Dar  ent  no  use  in  me  tekkin'  up 
your  time,  Marse  Newbole,  wid  tellin'  you  all  'bout  de 
way  things  got  a-runnin'  down  on  de  old  plantashun 
de  secun  year  o'  de  wah.  Arter  de  young  marsters 
quit,  dere  wor  n't  nobody  to  run  de  machine.  Ole 
marse  got  one  oberseer,  a  po'  white  from  de  Cote- 
House,  en  he  stole  en  cheated;  den  anudder  feller,  he 
cheated  en  stole.  Bymeby,  hog-raeat  gittiu'  skerser, 
craps  failin',  ole  marse  sent  fur  all  ban's  to  'semble  in 
de  yard.  Dar  wuz  we,  in  our  Sunday  bes';  dar  wuz 
he  in  dat  ole  study-gound  en  his  little  cap;  little  mis- 
tis behiue  him,  all  pale  en  showed  she  'd  bin  a-eryin'; 
Marse  Dolph  holdin'  on  to  her,  en  whisperin'  now  en 
den.     '  Boys,'  ole   marse  sez,  speakin'   particular  to 


CROW'S   NEST  145 

Pilate,  Jupe,  en  me,  cos  we  wuz  de  oldest,  'you  all 
see  how 't  is  wid  me.  Ye  's  sarved  me  true  en  faithful, 
en  it 's  powerful  hard  to  say  it,  but  I  hain't  no  call  fur 
to  starve  my  father's  people,  en  so  I  '11  give  ye  leave 
to  go.  We  're  dat  near  to  Wash'n't'n  it  '11  be  easy  fur 
dem  as  wants  ter  to  git  through  de  lines.  Dem  as 
has  families  to  take  wid  'em  I  '11  give  a  little  money 
to  start  'em  on  de  way,  en  what  I  can  I  '11  do  fur  all 
on  ye.' 

'*  Dem  niggers  acted  mighty  queer,  Marse  Newbole. 
It  cum  as  nateral  as  breathin'  to  want  to  holler  out 
at  dat.  Dat  wuz  freedom,  sir,  dat  wuz !  But  de  sight 
uv  our  ole  marse  standin'  up  in  de  ole  poach  so  feeble 
like,  en  dem  po'  young  things  behine  him,  wuz  mo' 
stronger;  en  we  jist  kep'  still  as  if  it  wuz  iu  preachin' ! 
Den  Mammy  Psyche  gin  de  fust  wud  by  squealin'  out 
en  throwin'  her  arms  aroun'  dem  two.  Miss  Pink  en 
Marse  Dolph,  en  prayin'  ole  marse,  for  God's  sake, 
not  to  send  her  off  from  her  lambs,  her  precious 
babies.  Ole  Unk  Jupe  put  his  hand  on  one  o'  de  do' 
poses,  en  he  sez :  '  Tek  dis  'ere  away,  marse,  but  leave 
ole  Jupiter.'  En  dat  sorter  bruk  down  de  cer'mony 
ob  de  'cashun.  De  wimmen  folks  en  de  chillun  cried 
en  hollered,  en  de  men  stood  on  de  groun'  ez  if  dey 
wuz  bin  havin'  der  dogger-types  tuk." 

Again  Sam  had  recourse  to  the  wisp  of  hay.  New- 
bold  stood  in  silence  beside  him,  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  ground. 

"  I  'd  like  to  tell  you  'bout  little  mistis,  sir,"  the  old 
negro  said,  confidingly,  after  a  time.  "  She  waited  a 
minnit  to  see  ef  her  pa  wuz  gwine  to  say  enny  mo', 
en,  seein'  him  settle  down  like  he  wuz  dreamin',  she 

la 


146  CROW'S   NEST 

dess  run  out  on  de  grass  amongs'  us,  sir,  wid  dat 
same  face  she  had  w'en  she  wuz  a-listenin'  to  de  guns 
at  Manassy ;  it  wuz  proud,  and  den  ag'in  it  wuz  n't. 

" '  I  wornts  you  all  to  know  dat  my  father  en  my 
brother  en  I  loves  you  jes'  ez  well  en  trusses  you  jes' 
de  same  ez  ever,'  war  what  she  say ;  '  en  ef  any  one 
'mongs'  ye  wornts  to  stay  en  share  our  poverty,  he  's 
welcome ;  en  ef  any  one  of  ye  wornts  to  come  back  to 
Crow's  Nes',  he  's  welcome.  I  've  growed  up  here 
'mongs'  ye,  en  I  knows  ye,  big  en  little,  ole  en  young. 
It  's  like  pullin'  my  heart-strings  out  to  see  ye  go 
away,  en  de  ole  place  go  to  ruin.  But  ef  it 's  got  to 
be,  my  dear,  dear  frien's,  I  know  you  '11  help  — '" 

At  this  point  of  his  narrative,  Sam  made  no  further 
attempt  to  stem  the  current  of  fast- welling  tears  that 
streamed  down  the  channels  of  his  withered  face. 
Presently  he  abandoned  the  wisp  of  hay  as  inadequate 
to  the  occasion,  and  took  from  his  pocket  a  handker- 
chief emblazoned  with  the  United  States  flag  in  all 
its  bravery  of  colors. 

"  Dat  was  de  beginnin'  uv  de  end,  Marse  Newbole," 
he  said.  "  De  Crow's  Nes'  niggers  cl'ared  out  arter 
dat,  do  de  mos'  ob  'em  was  mighty  hard  to  stir.  Unk 
Jupe  and  Mammy  Psyche  dey  staid,  uv  co'rse,  en 
dey  kep'  a  couple  o'  boys  to  hope  in  de  gyarden. 
Aunt  Lucy  she  went  off  to  nuss  in  de  hosspittle  at 
Culpepper.  Aunt  Judy, —  she  dat  wuz  housekeeper, 
sir, —  why  she  's  cook  at  Marse  Secertary  Chase's,  dis 
minnit,  in  Wash'n't'n,  en  Unk  Pilate,  her  husban', 
he  drives  de  kerridge.  Ole  Unk  Si  he  tuk  his  savin's 
en  made  tracks,  fust  off.  Hain't  nebber  heerd  o'  enny 
cuUud  gentleman  wha  's  runnin'  fur  Presiden',  down 


CEOW'S   NEST  147 

dar,  has  ye,  sir  ?  De  way  dat  nigger  baarabilated  off, 
ye  'd  'a'  thought  he  wor  n't  gwine  ter  'low  Marse  Lin- 
kum  no  chance,  nohow.  Sum'  on  'em  has  writ  letters 
beggin'  marse  to  take  'em  home  ag'in  ;  some  on  'em 
we  ain't  never  heerd  on.  I  'm  a  kyinder  old  tarrypin 
myself;  en  w'en  little  mistis 'vised  me  to  be  a-movin', 
I  dess  crawled  dis  fur,  en  'ere  I  stopped.  I  gets  my 
cawn-bread  en  my  bacon  en  a  bed  to  sleep  on  by  de 
wuk  I  does  fur  Marse  Jim  Peters,  wha'  keeps  dis  'ere 
hotel;  but  dey  's  a  mons'us  differ'nce.  'Pears  like  I  ent 
got  no  self -respec',  to  be  waitin'  on  po'  whites,  nohow ; 
en  de  longes'  I  live,  sir,  I  ent  nebber  seen  money  tuk 
befo'  fur  a  stranger's  bode  en  lodgin'." 

Thus  far  Newbold  had  heard  without  wishing  to 
interrupt  the  simple  old  narrator,  but  a  great  longing 
to  know  more  of  her  toward  whom  his  heart  had  been 
drawn  during  years  of  separation  overmastered  him. 
He  wrung  Sam's  hand,  greatly  to  that  worthy's  aston- 
ishment, leaving  in  the  horny  palm  another  green- 
back—  an  act  of  beneficence  that  almost  defeated  his 
object  by  depriving  the  now  smiling  negro  of  his 
powers  of  speech. 

''Your  young  mistress,  Sam,  how  does  she  look? 
how  does  she  bear  her  changed  fortunes  ? " 

"  She  's  grow'd  like  a  hickory  saplin',  Marse  New- 
bole,  en  it 's  dess  a  wonder  her  sperret  ent  bruk,  wid 
de  pore  eatin',  en  de  worriment,  en  de  hard  work.  I 
ent  tole  you,  sir,  dat  Marse  Peachy  got  killed  at  Mal- 
vern Hill,  en  Marse  Ludwell  lay  down  dere  in  the  hos- 
spittle  at  Richmon'  all  las'  summer,  'fo'  he  died  o'  de 
wounds  he  got  at  Seven  Pines.  Wen  Marse  Raish 
kem  a-limpin'  home  on  crutches  wid  one  laig  gone,  en 


148  CROW'S   NEST 

took  to  settin'  on  de  back  poach  all  de  day  (iinderneath 
de  water-bucket  wha  de  gourd  hangs,  sir,  you  'mem- 
bers it  ?)  en  giv  hisself  up  to  bein'  drefful  onsperreted, 
seems  like  dat  wuz  de  las'  straw !  Ole  marse  looked  at 
him  kinder  fur  off,  en  he  sez,  sez  he,  '  I  'm  a'  old  tree, 
en  dey  've  lopt  off  all  o'  my  branches ;  purty  soon  de 
trunk  '11  fall,  please  God.'  Den  Marse  Dolph  en  Miss 
Pink  dey  tuk  de  whole  f ambly  in  charge.  Marse  Raish 
alius  was  de  perjinketes'  ob  all  de  boys,  en  he  's  give 
'em  lots  o'  trouble  sence,  en  old  marse  'pears  to  git 
childish  like.  Dat  boy  Dolph  ez  only  fifteen,  sir ;  but 
ef  you  '11  b'leeve  me,  he  's  breakin'  his  heart  to  go 
enter  de  wah ;  en  Miss  Pink  she  wornts  de  wust  way 
ter  please  him,  en  but  fer  his  pa  I  b'leeve  he  'd  be  off 
like  a  shot.  .  .  .  Dey  's  powerful  po',  sir,"  he  ad- 
ded, with  reluctant  admission.  "  All  dat  Ian'  's  no 
good  to  marse;  en  de  Yankees  hez  cut  down  acres  uv 
his  timber.  But  dey  's  great  folks  still,  sir.  Dey  's 
Hunters,  ebbery  inch ;  en  dey  don't  gib  up." 

Newbold  rode  back  to  headquarters,  turning  over 
in  his  mind  a  variety  of  projects  by  which  he  could 
bring  himseK  into  communication  with,  and  if  possi- 
ble aid,  the  family  at  Crow's  Nest.  A  day  or  two 
afterward,  he  met  his  old  friend  Hoyt,  now  captain 
of  New  York  volunteers,  and,  like  himself,  recently 
stationed  in  the  Three  Forks  neighborhood.  They 
dined  together  at  Newbold's  mess,  and  after  dinner 
Newbold  resolved  to  make  an  effort  to  break  an  awk- 
ward kind  of  reserve  that  his  own  feeling  had  estab- 
lished between  them  in  regard  to  the  visit  at  Crow's 
Nest.     He  gave  Hoyt  an  outline  of  Sam's  story. 


CROW'S   NEST  149 

"  By  Jove,  it 's  too  bad,"  Hoyt  responded  heartily. 
''  Of  course  we  should  do  something ;  but  what "?  Our 
hands  are  tied.  Very  likely  they  'd  bar  the  door 
against  us,  and  the  girl  would  hurl  secession  elo- 
quence at  our  heads  from  the  upper  windows.  What 
a  pretty  creature  she  was,  Newbold !  Do  you  know, 
I  believe  my  wife  is  to  this  day  a  trifle  jealous  of  the 
spooney  way  I  used  to  go  on  about  old  Virginia  after 
our  visit  there.  I  sent  Miss  Hunter  a  lot  of  books 
and  engravings,  and  wrote  her  a  half-dozen  rather 
sentimental  letters  from  Europe  that  summer  —  and 
there  the  thing  cooled  off.  You  remember,  it  was  just 
before  I  became  engaged  to  Lilian  —  " 

"  I  have  n't  forgotten  anything  about  that  time," 
Newbold  said,  with  a  sort  of  effort.  ''  Perhaps  I  never 
told  you,  Hoyt,  that  I  myself  fell  as  irretrievably  in 
love  with  Miss  Hunter  as  an  idiot  could.  I  wrote  and 
told  her  so,  and  asked  her  leave  to  revisit  Crow's  Nest 
in  a  different  capacity.     But  —  " 

"  She  did  n't  agree  with  you,  old  fellow  ? "  Hoyt 
said  serenely.  "Well,  that  's  a  chapter  that  comes 
in  most  of  our  lives,  is  n't  it  ?  I  am  so  well  set  up  in 
that  matter  that  I  can  afford  to  sympathize  with  you 
old  bachelors." 

"Unfortunately,  as  you  will  agree,"  Newbold  ad- 
ded, after  a  moment's  deliberation,  "  I  have  a  provok- 
ing way  of  not  changing  when  I  once  make  up  my 
mind.  I  find  myself  to-day  more  than  ever  fixed  in 
my  regard  for  her.  The  story  that  old  darky  tells  of 
her  pluck  and  her  endurance  has  filled  me  with  a  rash 
and  unmanageable  desire  to  go  to  her  rescue." 

Hoyt  whistled. 


150  CROW'S   NEST 

"  Excuse  me,  old  fellow,  but  really  —  I  —  It 's  such 
an  immense  joke,  don't  you  see  ?  Why  can't  you  have 
the  common  sense  to  know  that  now  she  would  never 
look  at  you  f  These  Southern  girls  are  the  very  devil ! 
Perhaps  you  'd  better  try  it,  though,  if  you  are  going 
in  for  a  cure  ;  or  else  wait  awhile  till  we  have  settled 
this  rebellion  business,  and  aifairs  assume  a  different 
complexion.  For  my  part  I  stand  ready  to  do  the 
Hunters  any  kindness  or  any  courtesy  that  may  be 
possible,  if  a  chance  presents.  How  Lilian  will  laugh 
when  she  hears  I  've  run  upon  the  Virginian  flame 
again  ! " 

Once  again  upon  the  banks  of  the  Aspen  River 
our  two  friends  came  to  a  halt.  This  time  it  was  no 
May-day  pleasuring  beneath  the  flowery  arches  of  the 
wood.  Hoyt  was  in  command  of  a  scouting  expedi- 
tion, which  Newbold,  out  of  the  very  restlessness  of 
his  spirit,  had  volunteered  to  accompany.  The  long 
winter  of  inactivity  made  an  opportunity  like  this  a 
godsend  to  both  men  and  officers.  It  was  now  toward 
the  end  of  March,  and,  by  one  of  the  coquetries  of 
Virginia's  climate  at  that  season,  a  brisk  snow-storm 
had  set  in,  driving  Hoyt's  party  into  the  shelter  of  a 
close  growth  of  pine-trees  for  their  noonday  bivouac. 
Gathered  round  a  tiny  fire,  whose  thin  blue  curl  of 
smoke  they  would  have  hidden  from  outside  observa- 
tion, they  sat  eating  and  chatting  merrily — their 
horses,  tethered  close  at  hand,  comfortably  munching 
provender  beneath  a  thatch  of  snow. 

Suddenly  the  soldier  on  guard  without  gave  a  note 
of  warning  to  his  comrades.      In  an  instant  every 


CROW'S   NEST  151 

man's  hand  was  on  his  rifle.  In  the  dead  silence 
that  ensued,  they  could  hear  the  long,  even  stride  of 
horses  galloping  on  the  far  side  of  the  river-bank. 
From  their  ambush  they  saw  a  party  of  Confederates 
emerge  from  the  undergrowth  opposite  and  sweep 
down  the  steep  descent  to  the  ford.  Their  steeds 
plunged  into  the  stream  and  rioted  with  the  swift 
yellow  current,  wading  breast-high,  now  swimming, 
again  striking  bottom,  and  so  until  the  hoofs  of  their 
leader  struck  the  shore  immediately  beneath  the 
wooded  height  where  lurked  their  foe. 

What  followed  was  the  work  of  a  moment.  New- 
bold,  looking  out  with  a  thrill  of  eager  anticipation, 
saw  the  gray  coats  fare  gaily  forward  to  their  cer- 
tain doom — saw  in  the  midst  of  them,  first  to  breast 
the  current,  waving  his  arm  aloft  in  boyish  pride  — 
joyous,  gallant,  and  alert — good  God!  could  this  be 
little  Dolph  ? 

*'Fire!"  came  the  ring  of  Hoyt's  clear  voice;  and 
the  order  was  instantly  obeyed. 

Newbold  was  conscious  of  a  mad  movement  of  pro- 
test. Before  the  smoke  attending  the  deadly  volley 
had  scattered,  the  ranks  of  the  rebel  cavalry  were 
seen  to  split  asunder.  Two  or  three  bodies  plunged 
heavily  from  their  saddles  to  the  ground.  In  the 
skirmish  that  ensued  the  rest  of  them,  surprised  and 
outnumbered,  made  desperate  fight  in  vain.  Those 
not  slain  or  captured  on  the  spot  turned  back  to  cross 
the  ford,  a  rain  of  bullets  following.  More  than  one 
succeeded  in  crossing  unhurt;  some  sank  wounded 
on  the  far  bank ;  and  one  poor  fellow,  struck  in  mid- 
stream, sat  his  horse  gallantly  until  he  had  well  nigh 


152  CROW'S    NEST 

mastered  the  buffeting  of  the  flood,  then,  falling  like 
a  column,  was  lost  to  sight  beneath  the  angry  tide. 

It  was  short  work  to  look  for  Dolph.  The  boy  lay 
by  the  roadside,  his  fair  face  looking  heavenward,  a 
bullet  through  his  heart. 

Hoyt,  having  a  severe  thigh-wound  for  his  own 
share  of  the  encounter,  was  carried  by  his  men  into 
the  shelter  they  had  recently  quitted  and  laid  on  a 
bed  made  of  leaves  and  blankets,  while  a  messenger, 
accompanying  the  prisoners  sent  back  under  guard, 
was  despatched  to  headquarters  in  search  of  a  sur- 
geon. Into  this  retreat,  where  the  wounded  of  both 
sides  were  lying,  Newbold  had  caused  Dolph's  body  to 
be  borne.  A  faint  hope,  too  soon  extinguished,  nerved 
him  to  continued  efforts  at  resuscitation.  Hoyt,  on 
discovering  the  object  of  his  friend's  solicitude,  was 
beyond  measure  shocked  and  grieved.  In  the  inter- 
vals of  his  acute  attacks  of  suffering,  he  would  ask 
impatiently  if  nothing  could  be  done  to  save  the  boy. 
From  one  of  the  wounded  Confederates  Newbold  as- 
certained that  this  was  young  Hunter's  first  military 
service  since  his  recent  enlistment;  and  that  the  party, 
at  his  request,  had  stopped  overnight  at  Colonel  Hun- 
tele's  house,  whither  it  was  more  than  probable  some 
one  of  the  retreating  men  had  even  now  borne  the 
news  of  the  lad's  fate. 

**  But  I  reckon  I  'd  rather  be  here  as  I  am,  than  in 
his  boots  that  tells  the  news,"  the  soldier  added,  be- 
tween gasps  of  pain. 

Newbold,  having  done  what  he  could  for  the  suf- 
ferers, paced  up  and  down  the  road  in  front  of  his 
improvised  hospital,  a  prey,  for  once  in  his  life,  to 


CROW'S   NEST  153 

blank  uncertainty.  As  he  strode  back  and  forth,  a 
soldier  on  the  outpost  signaled  him,  pointing  in  the 
direction  of  the  far  bank  of  the  river.  Going  down 
the  steep  path,  Newbold  saw  through  the  mist  of 
swiftly  falling  snow  the  black  hulk  of  the  old  ferry- 
boat push  out  from  the  opposite  shore. 

''There  are  only  two  people  aboard,  sir,"  the  sentry 
said.  "They  Ve  a  white  flag  up.  It 's  a  woman  and 
a  nigger  man,  I  guess." 

Newbold's  heart  was  filled  with  foreboding.  He 
could  make  no  answer;  he  could  only  watch  and 
wait.  The  boat  drew  nearer.  What  he  feared  was 
realized.  A  gaunt  old  negro  handled  the  ropes  of  the 
ferry-boat,  and  at  his  side  a  young  girl  stood  direct- 
ing him.  A  moment  more,  and  Pink,  her  large  eyes 
fixed  and  staring,  no  tear  upon  the  whiteness  of  her 
cheek,  sprang  to  the  shore  and  came  swiftly  up  the 
bank. 

"  I  have  come  to  claim  my  dead,"  she  said,  in  tones 
so  strange  and  sad  that,  instinctively,  every  man  who 
heard  her  doffed  his  cap  and  stood  bareheaded  in  the 
snowflakes.  Newbold  dared  not  answer;  he  could  not 
tell  whether  she  recognized  him  or  not.  In  silence  he 
led  her,  followed  by  old  Jupiter,  whose  shambling 
steps  found  it  difficult  to  make  a  footing,  along  the 
slippery  path.  Dolph's  body  had  been  removed  a 
little  apart  from  the  others  and  laid  on  the  moss  at 
the  foot  of  a  tree.  Newbold  hesitated  for  a  moment ; 
then,  drawing  aside  the  sweeping  bough  that  veiled  it 
from  their  sight,  he  motioned  the  young  girl  to  pass 
before  him.  He  saw  her  swoop  downward,  like  a 
mother-bird  to  its  young,  and  then  could  look  no 


154  CROW'S   NEST 

more.  She  came  out  presently,  the  same  marble  crea- 
ture who  had  entered  there.  Hoyt  had  aroused  from 
his  benumbed  condition,  and,  dimly  comprehending 
what  had  come  to  pass,  begged  Newbold  to  call  her  to 
his  side. 

"I  must  say — a  word — you  know.  She  may  feel 
more  kindly  to  see  me — in  this  state." 

He  had  raised  himself  upon  his  elbow  and  looked 
appealingly  toward  her.  Pink's  eyes  met  his.  To 
Newbold's  utter  surprise,  the  young  girl's  face  kin- 
dled with  a  momentary  glow  that  was  astonishment 
and  joy  and  tenderness  combined.  She  made  a  quick 
motion  in  Hoyt's  direction,  then  as  suddenly  put  both 
hands  before  her  eyes  and  drew  back. 

''Pray  speak  to  him.  Miss  Hunter,"  Newbold  urged, 
in  a  voice  that  did  not  seem  his  own.  ''  He  is  badly 
wounded,  as  you  see,  and  your — sorrow — is  the  one 
disturbing  thought  he  can't  dismiss  from  his  wander- 
ing brain.  Surely,  you  will  be  merciful ;  surely,  you 
will  believe  that  this  terrible  day's  work  was  one 
neither  he  nor  I  would  have  intentionally  wrought." 

As  he  spoke,  the  girl  trembled  pitiably;  through 
her  clasped  hands  he  could  see  a  stain  of  vivid  car- 
mine dye  her  cheek,  then  vanish,  leaving  it  pale  as 
before.  With  sudden  impulse,  she  crossed  to  Hoyt^s 
side  and  bent  down  to  him ;  but  the  wounded  man, 
exhausted  by  his  effort,  had  already  fallen  back  in  a 
stupor  that  might  mean  death. 

Pink  knelt  for  a  moment  gazing  at  him;  then,  rising, 
turned  away.  Newbold  caught  the  murmur  that  es- 
caped her  lips. 

"  Better  so,"  she  whispered  drearily. 


CEOW'S   NEST  155 

"  Better  so,"  he  echoed  in  his  heart.  "  She  will  per- 
haps be  spared  a  deeper  pang." 

Dolph's  body  was  wrapped  in  his  soldier's  blanket ; 
but,  when  the  moment  came  to  bear  him  forth,  New- 
bold  and  the  men  who  offered  to  assist  were  motioned 
back  by  the  lean  arm  of  Jupiter,  who,  mute  and  solemn, 
had  kept  watch  beside  the  dead. 

"  I  ax  yer  pardon,  sir,  but  dis  is  my  place,  and  I  has 
my  mistis'  orders,"  the  old  man  said ;  and,  lifting  the 
body  tenderly  to  his  breast,  he  walked  with  majestic 
tread  along  the  path — the  girl,  erect  and  tearless, 
following. 

A  cloth  laid  over  the  boy's  face  fluttered  back. 
Those  who  in  silent  awe  looked  after  the  sad  pro- 
cession till  it  passed  from  view  saw  the  gleam  of 
his  golden  curls  nestling  in  the  protecting  arms  of 
Jupiter,  even  as  the  ferry-boat  pushed  out  from 
shore.  Midway  in  the  stream  Newbold  caught  his 
last  glimpse  of  them :  the  girl  at  her  old  place  by  the 
ropes,  battling  with  wind  and  current ;  the  negro,  on 
his  knees  beside  her,  striving  to  shield  his  burden 
from  the  storm.  Then  a  mist  came  over  the  watcher's 
eyes;  that  and  the  falling  snow  blotted  her  forever 
from  his  sight. 


A  LITTLE  while  ago,  Hoyt's  young  daughter,  an  airy 
fairy  Lilian  of  seventeen,  asked  her  father  why  their 
friend  Mr.  Newbold  had  never  chanced  to  marry. 

''He  seems  so  solitary,  papa,"  she  said,  from  her 
favorite  perch  on  the  arm  of  Hoyt's  library  chair; 
"  and  sometimes,  when  he  is  here  and  we  are  all  so 


156  CROW'S   NEST 

happy,  I  can't  help  fancying  it  makes  him  sad  to  see 
us.  I  should  like  hira  to  be  happy  too,  papa ;  for  he 
is  the  kindest,  truest  —  " 

''  Yes,  that  is  it,  Lilian.  If  such  a  thing  can  be,  he 
is  too  true." 

And  there,  in  the  twilight,  Hoyt  told  to  his  darling 
the  story  I  have  told  to  you. 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 


T  the  close  of  a  warm  day  of  South- 
ern spring,  a  little  gii'l,  most  fair  and 
delicately  made,  knelt  at  a  window 
looking  to  the  west,  resting,  in  cheru- 
bic fashion,  her  pretty  chin  between 
two  snowflake  hands.  A  soldier  on 
guard  over  a  headquarters  tent  in  the  sun-baked 
space  below  looked  up  at  her,  and  saluted  gallantly ; 
at  which  act  of  homage  a  smile  broke  over  her  face 
that  was  both  tender  and  triumphant.  Una  was  ac- 
customed to  such  recognition  from  the  men  to  whom 
her  casement,  with  the  flower-box  nailed  below  it 
overflowing  with  geraniums  and  featherfew  and  mign- 
onette in  bloom,  was  the  one  bit  of  esthetic  beauty 
in  an  arid  spot.  King  David,  an  ingenious  old  arti- 
ficer, had  constructed  for  her  this  hanging  garden 
from  a  box  in  which  cork  legs  had  been  sent  to  the 
hospital  camp;  and, covered  with  bark  from  the  neigh- 
boring woods,  its  appearance  in  public  was  now  all 
that  could  have  been  desired.  Through  the  mo- 
notony of  hospital  life,  she  ran  like  a  thread  of  gold. 
When  the  little  white-frocked  maiden  appeared  in 

14  157 


158  UNA  AND   KING  DAVID 

the  wards  beside  the  tall  and  somber  form  of  her 
mother,  who  was  a  matron  in  charge  of  a  division  of 
the  camp,  smiles  formed  upon  wan  lips,  dull  eyes 
kindled,  fretful  voices  were  toned  to  courteous  speech. 
And,  in  return,  she  loved  the  patients  as  she  loved  the 
cause  for  which  they  had  been  stricken  down;  fer- 
vently, unquestioning,  as  good  Catholics  treasure  the 
contents  of  their  reliquaries.  It  was  one  of  the  pa- 
thetic things  of  that  war  between  North  and  South 
to  see  young  spirits  charged  with  such  a  burden  of 
fierce  antagonism  —  young  veins  thrilling  with  a 
fever  of  strife  they  could  not  understand  and  sought 
not  to  remedy.  And  this  our  little  Una,  like  all  the 
rest  of  them,  was  so  terribly  in  earnest  in  calling  her- 
self a  Confederate. 

The  place  known  as  Camp  "Winder  was  situated 
beyond  the  town  limits  of  Richmond  in  1864.  Encir- 
cled by  a  trench  yielding  too  often  noxious  odors, 
the  rough  wards  and  tents  were  assembled  in  dreary 
rows  around  a  barrack  of  new  pine  boards,  built  after 
the  unostentatious  model  of  a  toy-shop  Noah's  Ark. 
One  expected  to  see  the  roof  tilt  back  upon  insufii- 
cient  hinges,  and  the  surgeons,  matrons  and  nurses 
for  whose  use  it  was  constructed  come  tumbling  out 
like  so  many  button-headed  Shems  and  Hams  and 
Japhets.  This  drear  abode,  a  honeycomb  of  hospital 
industries,  served  as  shelter  not  only  for  Una  Eus- 
tis  and  her  mother,  but  for  many  another  of  their 
class  born  and  bred  in  the  lap  of  abundant  comfort. 
The  uuplastered  room  allotted  to  the  division-matron 
had  contained  until  recently,  for  all  furnishing  but  a 
couple  of  army-cots,  a  table  with  washing  apparatus, 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  159 

and  a  few  nails  in  the  wall.  Then,  Fortune,  in  the 
shape  of  old  Miss  Jessie  Sprigg,  a  spinster  friend, 
who  going  to  board  in  the  country  had  nowhere 
to  store  her  belongings,  smiled  upon  them  broadly. 
Claw-footed  tables  and  chairs,  a  glazed  bookcase  and 
desk  combined,  a  Chinese  screen,  and  above  all  a 
comfortable  lounge,  arrived  to  transform  the  bare 
chamber  into  the  semblance  of  a  home.  Una,  with 
fairy  fingers,  had  only  to-day  put  to  it  her  finishing- 
touches  in  the  shape  of  a  curtain  and  table-cover,  and 
now  waited,  watching  the  red  ball  of  the  sun  sink 
behind  the  pine  grove  westward  of  the  camp — for  at 
sunset  King  David  would  be  free  to  come  and  take 
his  sovereign  lady  for  a  walk.  Her  mother  she  might 
not  expect  to  see  till  after  supper  was  distributed  to 
the  sufferers,  and  the  matrons  and  helpers  were  ready 
to  sit  down  to  their  own  meager  meal  in  the  refectory 
below. 

Spite  of  the  long,  hot  lonely  day  whose  pink  still- 
ness of  dawn  had  been  rudely  broken  by  guns  at  a 
distance,  Una  had,  in  her  congenial  toil,  almost  for- 
gotten to  be  sad.  Hour  by  hour  since  the  morning 
round  with  her  mother  in  the  wards  had  her  busy 
fingers  sped.  She  could  hardly  be  patient  now  that 
all  was  done.  King  David  would  never  see  how  she 
had  looped  her  curtains  with  her  old  blue  sash.  She 
longed  to  bring  that  faint  gleam  of  a  smile  —  so 
rarely  seen  now — into  her  mother's  beautiful  brown 
eyes. 

The  sun  sank  behind  a  blot  of  inky  pines,  casting 
up  a  fountain  of  radiance  to  the  sky.  A  sudden  pang 
of  remembrance  shot  into  Una's  heart.     The  scene 


160  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

recalled  to  her  a  vista  in  the  forest  surrounding  her 
old  home  —  a  spot  where  she,  with  papa  and  Hal,  on 
horseback,  had  once  stopped  to  watch  a  similar  effect. 
She  could  almost  smell  the  fragrance  of  dead  leaves 
and  living  mosses  always  arising  from  the  deep  Mount 
Airy  woods.  She  saw  again  a  cheerful  picture  of 
plantation  life  when  the  day  diaws  near  its  close; 
cows  marching  to  the  milking-place ;  chickens  and 
turkeys  fluttering  to  their  roosts ;  the  black  people 
slouching  home  to  the  quarter,  always  ready  to  stop 
for  a  pleasant-spoken  "  Howdy'e,  Marse,"  '^  Howdy'e, 
little  Miss."  Soon  lamps  would  send  forth  their  gleam 
from  the  Grreat  House  windows,  and  the  wide  front 
would  be  traced  in  light.  What  joy  to  spring  from 
the  saddle  by  aid  of  Hal's  young  arm,  and  to  go  in 
chattering  and  laughing  with  him  to  the  tea-table 
where  the  mother  sat,  and  where  the  father  would 
come  in  to  lend  his  buoyant  presence ! 

So  many  people  had  their  troubles  in  those  days, 
that  Mrs.  Eustis's  recent  share  in  the  tragedy  of  war 
had  already  passed  into  Confederate  tradition.  It  was 
hard  for  the  poor  lady,  looking  down  at  her  frock  of 
coarse  black  stuff,  and  about  her  at  the  sordid  belong- 
ings of  her  present  life,  to  realize  that  she  had  been 
the  petted  mistress  of  a  fine  old  colonial  homestead 
on  the  Virginian  border,  forsaken  at  the  outbreak  of 
the  war  to  follow  her  husband's  fortunes  in  the  field. 
The  one  visible  link  —  after  Una  —  to  connect  her 
with  that  time  was  the  diamond  glittering  upon  her 
finger  above  the  wedding-ring,  worn  now,  alas !  as  a 
symbol  of  love  overshadowed  by  uncertainty  worse 
than  death. 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  161 

Their  home  lay  in  the  track  of  armies  between  the 
Rappahannock  and  the  upper  Potomac,  and  she  with 
her  young  daughter  had  quitted  it  by  night  upon 
sudden  warning  of  an  advance  of  Union  troops.  Such 
a  movement  of  the  enemy  would  cut  her  off  definitely 
from  her  husband  and  the  son  whom  no  love  of  hers 
could  withhold  from  volunteering  to  fight  in  the 
Southern  cause,  and  there  had  been  brief  delay  in  her 
decision  to  flit. 

It  had  been  dream-like  at  the  time — how  much 
more  so  after  the  lapse  of  years  —  that  weird  flitting 
from  the  safe,  happy  home  whose  foundations  had 
seemed  planted  beyond  the  possibilities  of  change. 
The  hurried  packing  —  the  hiding  of  valuables  —  the 
necessity  of  driving  away  at  midnight  down  the  fa- 
miliar avenue,  unknown  to  the  sleeping  black  people 
— the  meeting  at  daybreak  with  her  husband,  who  had 
ridden  north  from  his  camp  to  welcome  her  —  the  feel- 
ing that  all  care  was  over,  then.  Next  came  the  odd, 
helter-skelter,  exciting  life  of  refugees  in  war  —  the 
heart-beats  and  anguish  of  suspense  in  times  of 
battle — the  rapture  of  reunion  with  the  spared.  Both 
her  husband  and  her  beautiful  eighteen-year  old  Hal 
had  escaped  without  a  scratch  from  almost  continual 
fighting,  when  Lee  in  1863  called  upon  his  soldiers  to 
follow  him  to  Maryland.  Hal,  but  recently  promoted 
from  the  ranks  to  be  a  sergeant,  had  gone  ahead 
without  an  opportunity  to  say  good-by  to  his  mother, 
then  in  Richmond. 

''Don't  fret,  my  darling;  this  means  peace,  home, 
everything,"  St.  George  Eustis  had  said  when,  recalled 
from  his  furlough  to  join  the  army  on  the  march,  he 


162  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

was  aroused  by  Ms  wife  in  the  gray  of  morning.  He 
had  slept  soundly  while  she  had  been  long  astir — 
setting  last  stitches,  packing  his  portmanteau,  brewing 
a  cup  of  coffee,  toasting  bread.  She  had  stood,  before 
awakening  her  husband,  watching  him  with  her  full 
soul  in  her  gaze.  "  Think  how  we  've  longed  for  this 
chance  to  push  over  the  Potomac.  I  'U  get  the  shirts 
to  Hal,  and  the  stockings  Una  knit, — bless  the  dear 
baby,  how  she  sleeps  !  .  .  .  I  'm  off  now;  keep  a 
brave  heart,  Florence.  God  bless  you  both !  Good-by." 

He  had  stolen  away  on  tiptoe  to  spare  Una  the  pain 
of  parting,  but  before  his  long  strides  had  carried  him 
the  length  of  the  corridor  a  little  speeding  form  was  on 
his  track. 

"  Papa !  I  was  not  asleep.  I  tried  to  bear  it,  but  I 
can't.     Kiss  me,  my  darling  own  papa!" 

Eustis  strained  her  to  his  heart.  ''Una,  you  will  be 
brave  ?  •  You  will  think  always  of  your  mother  first, 
and  remember  I  trust  her  happiness  to  you  I"  These 
words  rang  in  Una's  ears  long  after  the  news  came 
from  Gettysburg  that  took  the  sunshine  from  her 
mother's  life.  When  the  tide  of  battle  turned,  and 
the  last  splendid  assault  of  Pickett's  Virginians  was 
repulsed,  Colonel  Henry  St.  George  Eustis  was  left 
for  dead  within  the  Federal  lines.  Those  of  his 
friends  who  saw  him  fall,  quickly  spread  the  tidings 
of  their  important  loss.  Farther  down  the  slope, 
and  farther  down  in  the  list  of  Confederate  dead, 
was  Hal  Eustis,  buried  by  his  comrades  near  where 
he  died.  So  much  the  mother  learned  beyond  dis- 
pute, but  of  her  husband  nothing  more  than  the  fact 
of  his  fall  beside  a  captured  gun.    Inquiries,  let- 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  163 

ters,  advertisements  in  the  newspapers  of  both  sides, 
failed  to  elicit  further  detail.  As  months  wore  on, 
she  had  let  the  conviction  of  his  death  sear  its  way 
into  her  soul.  The  shrinking  of  her  means  of  liveli- 
hood cost  her  not  a  pang.  Long  practice  as  a  vol- 
unteer nurse  in  the  Confederate  hospitals  suggested 
to  her  a  place  as  paid  matron  under  Government,  and 
to  the  hard  routine  of  this  employment  she  had  come 
gladly.  But  for  Una's  comfort  and  well-being,  the 
life  of  stern  self-denial,  of  constant  action  in  the  ill- 
equipped  camp,  would  have  been  her  free  choice.  It 
was  the  rare  moments  of  rest  from  labor  Mrs.  Eus- 
tis  dreaded  most. 

Home  visions  thronged  around  the  lonely  little 
girl,  bringing  the  hot  tears  of  childhood  to  brim  her 
eyes,  but  the  sound  of  the  door  opening  behind  her 
made  her  spring  quickly  up,  hiding  her  emotion  by 
standing  with  her  back  to  the  amber  glow. 

"It's  only  me,  Miss  Una,  darlin',"  said  Rose,  one  of 
two  Irish  sisters,  laundry-maids  who  habited  a  room 
in  the  universal  entry.  She  was  a  bright,  hard-worked 
creature,  and  bore  across  her  arms  a  spotless  white 
frock  of  the  thin  stuff  Una's  mother  liked  best  to  see 
her  wear. 

"Rose!  You  have  n't  washed  that,  with  all  you 
have  to  do — and  the  day  so  very  hot?" 

"  Whisht  now.  Miss  Una,  it 's  no  credit  to  be  wash- 
ing where  there  ain't  no  dirt — an',  if  it 's  only  to  kape 
me  hand  in  at  clearstarchin'  till  this  cruel  war  be's 
over.  It  '11  go  hard  wid  me  sister  an'  me  if  we  can't 
manage  to  do  up  our  snowdrop's  little  frocks — not  to 
speak  of  them  beautiful  gownds  the  madam  was  afther 


164  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

givin'  us  a  Chewsday — rale  Frincli  cambric  with  flow- 
ers like  natur  —  it  '*s  the  sorrow  that  she  can't  be 
wearin'  'em  herself,  and  she  wid  a  figgur  like  the 
qneen." 

^'  Oh  !  She  was  beautiful,  Rose,  when  you  saw  her 
dressed  in  colors  —  but  I  must  n't  think  of  that !  Look 
how  pretty  our  room  is,  Rose  —  but  for  the  board 
walls  you  'd  never  believe  it  is  in  a  hospital." 

Busy  Rose  had  but  time  to  give  an  admiring  glance 
and  hurry  off,  when  a  beloved  visitor  appeared,  in  the 
shape  of  a  lady  whose  autumnal  charms  were  lightly 
veiled  in  rice-powder,  which,  with  the  somewhat  co- 
quettish arrangement  of  her  shabby  dress,  bespoke 
that  perennial  charmer  of  the  South,  the  belle  of  a 
generation  past. 

"All  alone,  you  dear  little  creature!  Well,  I  did 
hope  to  get  a  half -hour  to  myself,  to  come  and  sit 
with  you  in  this  bower  of  beauty  this  afternoon ;  but 
what  between  Doctor  Snow  and  Major  Isham,  who 
have  this  moment  left  me,  and  a  poor  fellow  down 
in  ward  46  who  's  to  be  operated  on  presently,  and 
will  expect  to  see  me  around  when  the  surgeons  leave 
—  I  've  brought  you  those  sweet  poems  of  L.  E.  L.  to 
read,  ray  child,  and  a  few  Maryland  biscuit  for  your 
tea  —  wish  with  all  ra'y  heart  there  were  more  of  'em, 
but  dear  Mrs.  Thompson's  cook  is  famous  for  her 
biscuit,  and  when  this  batch  came  to-day,  I  knew 
there  was  many  a  poor  soul — the  sweetest  verses,  so 
full  of  sentiment — I  positively  could  n't  get  rid  of 
Isham — an  old  beau  of  mine,  child,  proposed  to  me 
six  times  at  the  White  Sulphur  the  year  I  became 
engaged  to  poor  Mr.  Robbins  —  have  n't  seen  him 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  165 

since,  and  he  vows  I  have  n't  changed  a  particle  — 
now,  mind  you  come  to  me  whenever  I  'm  off  duty, 
and  your  mama  is  on  —  give  me  a  kiss  to  cheer  me, 
dear,  for  it 's  ten  to  one  that  my  pet  patient  will  sink 
after  this  amputation,  and  I  must  stay  by  him  till  he 
goes." 

"  Take  a  bit  of  my  geranium,  dear  Mrs.  Robbing," 
cried  Una,  who  knew  by  experience  the  tender  un- 
selfishness lurking  under  the  shreds  and  patches  of 
this  lady's  vanity.  "  It  will  smell  sweet  to  you  in  the 
wards.  And  thank  you  a  thousand  times  for  the 
biscuits.  If  you  knew  how  I  long  for  a  home  dainty, 
now  and  again,  that  will  tempt  mama  to  eat." 

She  had  not  ceased  to  croon  with  satisfaction  over 
the  unlooked-for  bounty,  when  the  one-armed  and 
one-legged  soldier,  employed  to  lower  the  headquar- 
ters flag  at  sunset,  set  flying  upon  the  air  a  few  very 
wild  echoes  from  the  asthmatic  bugle  that  was  his 
pride. 

^'  There  goes  the  flag  to  bed,"  cried  Una,  running 
back  to  the  window.  "  And  now  King  David  will  be 
here  to  take  me  out." 

The  rim  of  the  sun  had  sunk  behind  the  black 
boles  of  the  pine  grove.  Slowly  the  stars  and  bars 
glided  downward  on  their  staff.  Shortly  thereafter 
a  shuffling  step  was  heard  outside  Una's  door,  and  a 
deprecating  tap  upon  its  panels. 

"Gome  in.  King  David,"  exclaimed  the  little  lady, 
insistently.  "  There  is  the  trunk  that  I  've  unpacked 
now  we  've  a  chest  of  drawers,  and  you  're  to  take  it, 
please,  to  the  storeroom  —  that  is,  if  you  can  carry  it 
by  yourself." 


166  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

"Light  as  a  feather  this  is,  honey/'  the  old  man 
said,  stooping  to  deposit  his  torn  straw  hat  upon  the 
floor. 

King  David  was  an  old  negro,  with  a  head  too  large 
for  his  body,  and  legs  curiously  bowed.  When  one 
spoke  to  him  in  kindness,  his  rugged  face  became 
irradiated  with  a  smile  pathetic  in  its  humility ;  but 
there  was  dignity  of  the  true  royal  sort  in  King 
David's  bearing  when  one  touched  upon  the  honor  of 
his  master's  house  and  family.  He  was  the  son  of  the 
old  Mount  Airy  "  Mammy,"  or  head  nurse  (who  had 
given  him  his  name  in  sober  tribute  to  the  author  of 
the  Psalms),  and  had  been,  after  the  Southern  fash- 
ion, apportioned  to  St.  George  Eustis  in  childhood  as 
caretaker  and  general  companion  to  the  young  heir 
of  a  great  estate.  Accompanying  his  mistress  in  her 
flitting  to  the  Confederate  lines,  he  had  since  clung 
to  her  shifting  fortunes  with  increased  fidelity.  What 
it  cost  him  to  see  his  ladies  reduced  to  their  present 
condition  of  life,  only  those  can  understand  who  have 
personal  acquaintance  with  the  quality  of  old-time 
negro  pride.  He  would  have  given  his  last  morsel  to 
save  ^'  My  Mistis  and  little  Mistis"  from  sitting  down 
to  break  daily  bread  with  some  of  the  folk  who 
shared  their  privileges.  On  this  subject,  Mrs.  Eus- 
tis and  he  had  to  agree  to  differ. 

''I,  too,  am  a  servant,  David,"  she  would  say  with 
a  wan  smile.  "  A  paid  servant  of  the  Government, 
like  you  and  all  the  rest." 

"  For  the  Lawd's  sake,  don't  let  anybody  hear  you 
say  that,  Mistis,"  he  would  whisper  despaii'ingly.  "  I 
don't  reckon  there  's  a  soul  in  this  camp  that  knows 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  167 

you  that  ain't  heard  of  the  great  family  you  came 
from,  and  the  way  you  'n  Marse  Sainty  gave  your 
money  like  water  to  start  this  war." 

"  Not  a  soul  in  the  camp  that  knows  ijou,  David,  I 
dare  say,"  she  answered  with  a  gleam  of  her  old  light 
spirit. 

To  be  near  her  and  her  child,  King  David  had  se- 
cured employment  in  the  wards,  and  his  pittance  of 
pay  and  rations  was  most  often  shared  with  those 
poorer  than  himself.  He  had  been  a  prayer  leader  of 
renown  in  plantation  days,  and  his  missionary  work 
among  the  patients  was  generally  more  welcome  than 
the  conventional  ministrations  of  the  Church.  Early 
and  late  he  was  seen  at  the  bedside  of  the  dying, 
many  of  whom  passed  out  of  life  clinging  to  his  fingers 
and  repeating  with  fluttering  breath  his  petition  of 
the  sinner  repenting  at  the  gate  of  death. 

It  was  the  bright  spot  in  King  David's  day  when 
sunset  freed  him  to  be  at  the  disposal  of  his  young 
lady.  The  great  heat  during  the  day  kept  Una  much 
indoors,  and  she  sorely  missed  the  old  out-door  coun- 
try life.  To-day  when  King  David  had  shouldered 
her  empty  trunk  and  carried  it  away,  she  made  haste 
to  take  her  shade-hat  down  from  its  peg,  pausing 
once  more  on  the  door-sill  to  look  proudly  back  at 
her  final  achievements  in  decoration. 

"Is  n't  it  lovely,  King  David,"  she  said,  when  the 
old  man  came  twisting  back.  ''Is  n't  this  just  like 
a  real  home?" 

"That  it  is,  little  Mistis,"  he  answered  cheerfully, 
falling  behind  her,  however,  to  gulp  once  or  twice, 
and  swallow  down  a  lump. 


168  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

Hand-in-hand,  homeless  in  a  land  of  homes,  the  two 
wandered  out  of  the  precincts  of  the  camp  into  a  bow- 
ery bit  of  woodland  overhanging  a  canal  that  here 
kept  sluggish  pace  with  the  river  tumbling  below 
over  its  rocky  bed.  The  sweet  untainted  air  was 
balmy  with  wild  flowers.  Una,  soon  tired  of  walking, 
sat  upon  the  root  of  a  tree  looking  down  into  the  clear 
stream,  drawing  long  breaths  of  the  delicious  atmos- 
phere, trying  to  forget  the  sad  scenes  and  to  deaden 
her  ears  to  the  haunting  sounds  of  Camp  Winder 
life.  As  she  rested  thus,  a  canal-boat  glided  beneath 
her,  a  negro  boy,  stretched  on  the  deck,  performing 
upon  the  horn  an  obhgato  of  rare  melody,  which 
died  in  the  distance  like  the  horns  of  Elfland.  And 
then  a  bird  in  the  tree-top  overhead  took  up  the  tale  of 
sweetness,  trilling  in  ecstasy  as  if  there  were  no  war. 

''Oh!  King  David,"  said  the  little  girl,  "do  you 
know,  what  with  the  furniture  and  this  lovely  even- 
ing, I  think  if  it  were  not  wrong  I  could  be  almost 
happy?" 

"Whatever  you  do,  don't  stop  feelin'  good  when 
you  Mn,  little  Mistis,"  he  replied,  standing  beside  her 
leaning  upon  his  staff.  "  It 's  nature  movin'  in  your 
veins  like  the  sap  stirs  in  the  trees.  You  've  got  to 
do  a  mighty  heap  of  laughin'  to  put  heart  into  your 
pore  ma,  honey,  don't  forgit." 

"I  know  it.  I  like  to  make  her  face  soften  and 
her  lips  curve.  King  David,  I  believe  she  has  never 
given  up  hope  that  my  father  may  be  alive." 

"  It 's  nigh  onto  a  year,  now.  Miss  Una,"  he  said  re- 
luctantly, stooping  down  to  pick  a  bunch  of  wood 
anemones  that  he  might  hide  his  face.    His  mind's 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  169 

eye  saw  his  beloved  master  on  a  veritable  throne  of 
glory  side  by  side  with  Master  Hal,  both  playing 
golden  harps. 

Una's  face  clouded,  and  she  sighed  heavily. 

"  We  will  walk  on  now,  King  David.  I  must  gather 
some  wild  flowers  for  her  little  Sevres  vase.  She  will 
come  in  tired,  I  know.  Oh !  One  can't  have  every- 
thing, but  Mrs.  Robbins  gave  me  some  such  beauti- 
ful biscuits,  and  I  could  manage  to  get  a  little  butter 
—  if  we  only  had  a  pinch  of  real  tea." 

If  King  David  had  carried  the  wealth  of  the  Indies 
in  his  pocket,  he  could  not  have  broken  into  a  more 
widely  jubilant  smile. 

"  Miss  Una,  honey,  sure  as  you  're  born,  I  've  got  a 
s'prise  for  you.  You  dun  hit  the  nail  square  on  the 
head  that  time,  my  lamb.  Ef  I  didn't  scrub  her  store- 
room flo'  for  Miss  Potts  after  hours  last  night,  and 
she  give  me  my  choice  of  pay,  'tween  a  ham-bone  and 
a  drawin'  o'  tea  —  the  gynuwiue  article,  her  nephew 
sent  her  a  pound  of  through  the  blockade  !  I  reckon 
I  tuk  the  tea.  I  was  projeckin'  to  keep  it  till  next 
time  Mistis  has  one  of  her  headaches." 

"  Oh  !  that  is  too  good !  "  cried  Una,  her  face  kind- 
ling. It  did  not  occur  to  her  to  thank  him,  so  identi- 
cal were  their  intei-ests.  "  I  'm  afraid  she  's  had  too 
many  headaches  lately,  and  I  think  her  step  is  slower 
than  it  was  —  if  it  was  n't  that  she  has  always  had 
good  health  —  " 

"  She  ain't  lookin'  so  mighty  well,  honey,"  the  old 
man  admitted,  then  stopped.    He  had  not  the  heart 
to  cloud  the  child's  holiday  hour  with  a  fear  that  had 
begun  to  haunt  him. 
15 


170  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

Una  walked  home  wreatlied  like  a  Dryad  with  her 
wild  flowers,  and  in  passing  through  the  gangrene 
tents  flitted  in  here  and  there  to  lay  some  vine  or 
spray  upon  the  pillows  of  sufferers  condemned  to 
that  dreaded  exile  from  the  world.  A  little  cluster 
of  anemones,  with  rose  and  purple  staining  milk 
white  petals,  alone  remained  to  deck  the  tea-table  im- 
provised from  Miss  Sprigg's  rosewood  bedstand,  at 
which,  presiding  over  a  plate  of  biscuits  toasted  and 
buttered,  Una  received  her  mother — King  David 
bowing  behind  her  with  a  pot  of  smoking  tea. 

Mrs.  Eustis  tried  to  respond  to  the  old  man's  pride, 
the  little  girl's  delight.  She  drank  eagerly  a  cup  of 
tea,  but  ate  a  morsel  only,  and  sat  by  the  window, 
courting  the  faint  stirring  of  the  close  air  at  night- 
fall, conscious  of  a  strange  weakness  and  swimming 
of  the  head.  The  latter  hours  of  her  weary  day  had 
been  spent  with  a  patient  who  had  begged  her  for  his 
mother's  sake  to  stay  by  him,  until,  just  as  the  lights 
of  the  camp  were  flickering  feebly  forth,  his  lamp  of 
life  went  out.  Until  long  after  bedtime  she  lay  upon 
the  lounge  undressed,  and  by  the  next  morning  was 
declared  by  the  doctors  to  be  in  the  first  stage  of  a 
malarial  fever,  its  exact  nature  not  yet  assured. 

Una,  who  had  never  seen  her  mother  ill,  felt  a  sense 
of  terror  overmaster  her  solicitude.  With  a  sinking 
heart  she  set  about  making  her  dear  invalid  comfort- 
able. Irish  Rose,  coming  in  and  seeing  Mrs.  Eustis 
toss  upon  the  harsh,  unbleached  cotton  of  the  hospital 
sheets,  hastened  away  to  extract  from  the  bottom  of 
her  old-fashioned  chest  an  armful  of  snowy  linen. 

"Let  me  put  these  on  her  bed,  me  burd,"  the  good 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  171 

creature  whispered.  "Ra'al  old-country  flax  it  is, 
spun  and  wove  by  me  mother,  God  rist  her  sowl ;  and 
the  lace  on  the  pilly-cases  she  worked  and  bid  me  put 
by  against  me  weddin'-day;  though  the  saints  above 
knows  whin  I  '11  get  a  chance  at  a  husband,  seein'  the 
way  the  Yankees  be's  a  shortnin'  our  supply  of  min- 
folks. 

Mrs.  Robbius  and  King  David  shared  Una's  vigil, 
as  hour  by  houi',  day  by  day,  the  fever  ran  its  course. 
One  night,  following  a  day  when  the  sound  of  guns 
had  ceased  only  as  the  darkness  came,  the  little 
girl  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  lounge,  while  King 
David  kept  watch  over  the  sufferer.  Toward  morn- 
ing a  tap  was  heard  upon  their  door,  and  the  ward- 
master  of  a  newly  equipped  ward  in  Mrs.  Eustis's 
division  asked,  in  a  low  tone,  for  permission  to  use 
the  matron's  keys. 

"There  's  an  ambulance  train  just  beginning  to 
come  in,  and  all  my  beds  will  be  full,"  the  man  said 
to  Una,  who  answered  his  appeal.  "  The  most  of  'em 
have  n't  had  food  since  before  the  fight  this  morning, 
and  if  you  could  make  it  convenient.  Miss,  to  come 
out  to  the  store-room  and  show  me  where  things  are 
kept,  it  would  save  time  and  life  too." 

"Go,  Una  darling,"  said  her  mother.  "Do  for  me 
what  I  cannot  do.  You  know  where  I  keep  the  brandy 
— make  it  go  far,  for  it  is  all  we  have — never  fear, 
but  David  will  take  good  care  of  this  poor  soldier 
fallen  at  her  post." 

Lantern  in  hand  the  man  strode  ahead  of  her  as 
Una  under  the  starlight  picked  her  way  across  the 
rough  soil  of  the  camp  to  the  ward-kitchen  where 


172  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

they  hastily  reviewed  supplies.  To  her  dismay,  not  a 
mouthful  of  food  was  available,  except  a  few  "pones'' 
of  coarse  corn-bread,  a  little  cold  boiled  bacon  and  a 
couple  of  quarts  of  milk. 

"How  many  to  feed,  Henderson?"  she  asked  mourn- 
fuUy. 

"God  knows.  Miss,  but  considerable  more'n  we  've 
got  food  to  give  'em,  I  'm  afraid.  WiU.  you  take  the 
bottle  and  a  cup,  Miss?  There  '11  be  some  too  far  gone 
to  eat,  better 's  the  luck  for  them," 

The  Southern  night  had  spent  its  early  heat,  and  a 
delicious  breeze  laden  with  wood  odors  came  up  from 
the  river.  In  the  blue  vault  of  heaven  great  stars 
shone  brilliantly.  On  the  confines  of  the  camp,  be- 
fore the  open  doors  of  the  new  ward,  ambulances 
were  depositing  their  ghastly  burdens,  some  of  the 
wounded  uttering  pitiful  prayers  to  be  left  to  die  in 
peace,  some  mercifully  in  stupor,  while  other  forms 
were  lifted  out  frozen  in  the  silence  of  eternal  rest. 
Those  for  whom  the  long,  jolting  ride  through  heat 
and  dust  from  the  battlefield  had  not  finished  the 
work  begun  by  the  enemy's  bullets  were  carried  within 
and  laid  upon  cots  in  rows,  and  by  the  insufficient 
glimmer  of  oil-lamps  and  tallow  dips  the  surgeons 
began  their  rounds.  Una,  too  inured  to  these  scenes 
of  sorrow  to  lose  her  balance,  set  to  work  immediately 
to  count  the  men  requiring  sustenance,  and  to  divide 
her  scant  supplies.  With  the  ward-helpers,  she  went 
from  bed  to  bed  distributing  the  bread  and  meat  to  a 
few,  to  more  the  eagerly  craved  draught  of  milk  which 
must  be  doled  out  in  such  tantalizing  measure.  Here 
and  there,  at  the  surgeon's  orders,  she  parted  with 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  173 

the  brandy  that  was  as  precious  as  the  elixir  of  life. 
Despite  her  calm,  tears  of  bitter  longing  for  more 
milk  ran  down  her  cheeks  and  mingled  with  the 
cup  she  had  forcibly  to  withdraw  from  parched  and 
starving  lips. 

Almost  the  last  sufferer  upon  her  round  was  a 
young  fellow  who  had  worked  himself  over  upon  his 
face  and  lay  without  sign  of  life.  Una  looked  about 
for  help  to  move  him,  but  no  one  was  at  leisure  and, 
slipping  her  soft  hand  under  his  cheek,  she  turned  it 
to  the  light,  striving  with  the  other  hand  to  put  a 
spoonful  of  milk  and  brandy  between  his  white  lips. 
Then  a  cry  burst  from  the  little  girl,  unheeded  in  the 
commotion  of  the  hour. 

"Denny!  Denny  Ryan!  Speak  to  me.  Drink  this 
for  my  sake ;  for  Hal's  sake,  Denny,  only  hear." 

A  surgeon,  attended  by  an  orderly  carrying  a  lan- 
tern, hurried  up.  The  light  fell  full  upon  the  wounded 
lad,  upon  Una's  imploring  face. 

"  Oh !  Doctor  Lewis,  help  him,  please,''^  she  said. 
"  He  was  one  of  my  father's  soldiers  and  followed  my 
brother  to  the  war.  He  lived  on  our  place,  and  we  've 
been  playmates  all  my  life." 

"He  is  past  helping,  my  dear  child,"  the  doctor 
answered  kindly.  "  You  may  stay  by  him,  if  you  like, 
and  if  consciousness  returns,  your  voice  will  soothe 
him,  but  he  is  going  fast." 

"  That 's  a  pocket  edition  of  Florence  Nightingale 
you  've  got  there,  doctor,"  said  a  newly  transferred 
assistant  on  the  staff,  as  they  resumed  work  at  an  ad- 
joining bed. 

"She  is  one  of  the  precious  things  that  come  in 


174:  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

small  parcels,"  answered  Lewis.  "Such  pluck  and 
sweetness  don't  meet  every  day." 

Una  knelt  by  Denny's  side,  weeping  silently.  The 
sight  of  his  familiar  freckled  face  brought  back  a 
hundred  visions  of  home  and  Hal  and  her  father. 
Denny,  the  son  of  the  Mount  Airy  Irish  overseer,  had 
been  Hal's  loyal  shadow;  had  refused  to  stay  behind 
him  from  the  war,  had  been  with  him  at  his  death  at 
Gettysburg.  Ryan,  Denny's  father,  had,  so  far  as  the 
widow  and  daught-er  of  Colonel  Eustis  knew,  remained 
on  at  Mount  Airy  in  charge  of  their  property — his 
older  son  Bill  having  gone  off  to  "Washington  and 
enlisted  as  a  Federal  volunteer.  And  this  was  the 
end  of  poor  Denny's  soldiering.  So  soon  to  follow 
Hal.  Always  to  follow  Hal.  Above  the  bed  was  a 
window,  through  which  the  streaks  of  a  saffron  dawn 
came  to  blend  with  the  shadows  of  the  ward.  In  a 
tree  near  by,  a  bird  began  to  stir  and  chirp.  The 
boy  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  his  companion 
wondering. 

''  Miss  Una !  I  thought  you  was  calling  me.  It  was 
picking  dewberries,  I  was — down  in  the  cow-pasture 
where  the  blue  flags  grows  —  at  home." 

"Dear  Denny,  you  are  not  at  home  yet,  but  you 
soon  will  be.  Don't  you  remember  you  were  in  a  fight 
to-day,  and  they  've  brought  you  straight  to  me,  at 
Camp  Winder  where  we  've  lived  since  —  papa  and 
Hal  were  —  left  at  Gettysburg." 

^^ Hurrah!  We  charged  the  ridge!"  Denny  cried 
out  in  a  thrilling  pipe  that  caused  more  than  one 
head  to  turn  on  its  weary  piUow.  "  Miss  Una,  I  'd  'a' 
died  to  bring  Hal  safe  out  of  it.     To  take  him  and 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  175 

leave  me  was  kind  o'  funny,  don't  you  think  ?  Miss 
Una,  did  Bill  tell  you  he  saw  the  Colonel  in  the 
Yankee  hospittle?" 

Una's  heart  gave  a  great,  eager  leap  that  robbed 
her  of  her  speech.  To  Denny  "the  Colonel"  was 
always  Una's  father. 

"  Hal  and  I  are  goin'  trappin'  Molly  cottontails 
to-morrow,"  the  voice  went  on  more  feebly.  "  In  the 
wood  where  we  got  you  the  mistletoe  last  Christmas — 
it 's  sno win'  now,  I  think  —  my  ban's  are  gittin'  cold." 

Una  took  his  chill  fingers  in  her  warm  clasp,  and 
summoned  all  her  strength. 

"  Denny,"  she  said  close  in  his  dying  ear,  "  for 
God's  sake  try  to  understand.  Tell  me  what  Bill  said 
about  papa." 

"Miss  Una,  was  you  talkin'?  Seems  to  me  I  'm  a 
little  deef." 

''What  did  Bill  say  about  the  Colonel  in  the 
hospital?" 

"It  was  last  Monday' — on  picket-guard  near  Drew- 
ry's  Bluff — I  saw  Bill  an'  hailed  him.  You  bet  he 
was  surprised.  .  .  .  We  talked  back  an'  fort'  a  good 
half-hour.  Bill  said  the  Colonel  was  n't  killed  at 
all  ...  he  was  just  a  bit  childish-like,  an'  couldn't 
talk  .  .  .  Miss  Una,  are  you  cryin'  for  your  pa?" 

"Denny—" 

"  Bill  's  a  good  fellow,  mother.  He  '11  fetch  the 
cows,  i'stead  of  me.  .  .  .  Hold  on  there,  Hal,  I  'm 
comin."  .  .  . 

And  with  that,  poor  Denny  died. 


176  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 


n 


Was  it  true  —  this  wonderful  news  that  poor 
Denny's  fevered  brain  had  schooled  his  stammering 
tongue  to  utter?  Dared  she  believe  that  their  be- 
loved one  was  not  indeed  left  "free  among  the  dead" 
on  the  heights  at  Gettysburg?  Wings  to  her  feet 
carried  Una  over  the  rude  pathways  of  the  camp 
back  to  the  barracks  where,  in  their  poor  room,  her 
ailing  mother  lay. 

There  sat  King  David  at  his  post  beside  the  bed, 
unwearied,  motionless,  his  face  stern  and  rigid  like 
a  mask  of  gray  marble.  He  had  pinned  over  the 
shadeless  window  a  worn  old  shawl,  and  it  was  quite 
dark  in  the  room  except  where  a  thread  of  morning 
light  came  through  a  moth-hole  and  slanted  across 
the  invalid's  pillow.  She  was  sleeping  an  unrestful 
sleep,  and  in  her  cheeks  burned  crimson  spots,  but 
Una  thought  she  had  never  seen  the  beautiful  clear- 
cut  features  stand  out  in  such  relief  from  their  sur- 
roundings—  the  look  of  race  so  prominent. 

"King  David,  is  she  worse?" 

"  Nothing  you  mout'  n't  have  expected,  honey.  The 
doctor  he  kem  in  'bout  four  o'clock,  an'  tole  us  where 
you  was,  an'  she  sez  then  she  was  n't  sufferin'  much, 
an'  she  was  glad  her  little  girl  was  doin'  her  work  for 
her.  Miss  Bobbins  and  Miss  Rose  has  been  back  an' 
fort.'    Hes  it  been  a  tryin'  night  for  you,  my  honey  ?" 

"Oh!  King  David,  don't  talk  about  me  now.  I 
have  hea.rd  such  a  wonderful  thing  that  I  believe  my 
heart  will  burst  unless  I  tell  you.  Shall  we  disturb 
mama  by  talking  ? " 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  177 

"  No,  chile;  the  fever  's  dun  took  a  holt  of  her  too 
hard  for  that.  'Fore  you  tries  to  talk,  tho',  honey, 
I  've  got  bread  and  coffee  for  you,  I  begged  Miss  Rose 
to  git  me.  The  coffee  's  cold,  I  reckon,  but  you  must 
drink  it,  an'  set  you  down  on  this  cheer  an'  rest  awhile. 
You  '11  need  to  be  strong  before  she  wakes  again. 
Miss  Una.    She  's  off  her  head  consid'able." 

At  this  moment  the  sufferer  stirred,  opened  wide 
her  unconscious  eyes,  and  spoke  in  quick,  excited 
tones : 

"  Go,  mammy.  Hurry  and  tell  your  master.  He  '11 
be  so  glad  the  baby  is  a  girl.  Does  Hal  know  about 
his  sister  ?    How  I  long  to  see  them  side  by  side." 

She  fashioned  her  bedclothes  into  a  little  roll,  and 
pressed  it  to  her  bosom.  Then,  dashing  it  away,  she 
threw  her  white  arms  high  above  her  head,  and  cried 
out  in  a  thrilling  voice : 

"  God  has  smitten  me  to  the  earth.  By  night,  by 
day,  I  cry  to  Him  for  my  husband  and  my  son,  but 
He  is  deaf.  His  face  is  turned  from  me.  I  am  be- 
reaved, I  am  bereaved." 

Una  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears.  Starting  for- 
ward, she  tried  to  imprison  her  mother's  form  in  her 
arms,  but  was  cast  aside  like  a  broken  reed.  Taking 
Mrs.  Eustis  in  his  powerful  grasp,  soothing  her  with 
tenderest  murmurs,  the  old  negro  held  his  mistress 
on  her  pillow;  and  when,  calmed  and  controlled,  she 
passed  into  another  interval  of  sleep,  he  stooped  and 
picked  the  little  sobbing  creature  from  the  floor, 
where  she  had  fallen  in  a  heap. 

"  It 's  hard  for  you,  my  lamb,  the  first  time  you  've 
ever  seen  her  out  'n  her  head.     But  don't  you  be 


178  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

afeard,  my  blessiii'.  This  here  fever  's  got  to  run  its 
course,  the  doctor  says.  It  makes  my  heart  ache  to 
see  her  thinkin'  she  's  home  again.  The  Lawd's  will 
be  done,  honey;  but  ef  thar  'S  anything  I  do  begrutch 
my  enemies,  it 's  the  Chamber  at  Mount  Airy.  I  Ve 
been  sittin'  here  all  night,  chile,  thiukin'  'bout  your 
pore  ma's  fo'-pos'  bed,  an'  them  dimity  curtains  with 
the  drop  fringe,  as  your  blessed  gran'ma  made. 
There,  there!  stop  cryin',  my  baby.  Your  ma  '11 
git  well;  she  's  got  the  gyniwine  Stuart  constitoo- 
tion.  Why,  you  're  laughin'.  Miss  Una !  Save  us 
and  bless  us,  ef  the  chile  ain't  got  high-strikes!" 

"  Oh !  you  don't  know,  King  David,"  the  little  girl 
said,  choking  down  her  tears.  "You  don't  under- 
stand. It  is  n't  only  about  mama.  Oh !  let  me  cry 
a  minute  longer,  and  I  shall  be  able  to  tell  you  the 
wonderful  news  I  've  heard.  The  doctor  told  j^ou 
it  was  poor  Denny  I  stayed  with  till  he  died.  But  he 
did  n't  teU  you.  King  David  —  see,  I  am  quiet  now, 
and  you  may  trust  me  —  what  Denny  said  with  his 
last  breath.  Denny  saw  Bill  on  picket-guard,  near 
Drewry's  Bluff,  and  Bill  told  him  —  oh !  my  heart  will 
break  with  joy — told  him  my  father  was  n't  killed. 
Bill  saw  him  in  a  hospital  —  saiv  papa,  King  David  !  " 

The  old  negro's  face  worked  with  powerful  emo- 
tion. A  dry  sob  burst  from  him,  and,  straightway 
falling  on  his  knees,  he  raised  his  hands  to  Heaven. 

"  If  this  be  true,  Oh !  Lawd  most  marciful ! "  he 
prayed,  "then  hear  thy  sarvant  now.  Hast  thou 
not  said  that  them  whom  Gawd  has  j'ined  together, 
let  no  man  put  asunder?  Bring  back  to  thy  hand- 
maiden the  husband  of  her  youth.      Lift  up   her 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  179 

stricken  head  and  wipe  her  tears  away.  Renew  her 
in  love,  in  wealth,  in  happiness,  and  sanctify  us 
and  her  unto  thy  sarvice,  for  thy  dear  Son's  sake. 
Amen ! " 

"  Sainty,  my  darling,"  came  from  the  tossing  figure 
on  the  bed,  "put  your  arms  around  me.  Hold  me 
close.    There,  I  can  rest  now.    Hold  me  close." 


Never  before,  in  the  course  of  their  companion- 
ship, had  the  grizzled  old  head  and  the  sunny  young 
one  been  called  on  to  do  such  an  amount  of  indepen- 
dent thinking,  now  that  the  brain  that  had  judged 
for  them  was  clogged,  and  the  hand  that  had  steered 
their  course  was  nerveless.  The  two  found  time 
to  steal  away  from  the  sick  room  to  walk  behind 
Denny's  rough  coffin  to  Hollywood  and  see  it  laid 
upon  another  like  it  in  a  soldiers'  trench.  Una's 
hands  showered  pink  azaleas  from  the  woods  into 
the  double  grave,  and  King  David,  kneeling  upon 
the  ground  "undone"  by  many  a  yawning  pit  half 
filled  with  water,  prayed  long  and  fervently. 

"  Come,  uncle,"  said  one  of  the  men,  touching  him 
on  the  shoulder.  "  I  reckon  it 's  'bout  time  for  you  to 
be  dryin'  up.  There  's  another  cart-load  waitin'  to  be 
tucked  away,  an'  we  ain't  got  time  to  do  this  thing  in 
style." 

Died  for  his  country!  Thus  Denny  Ryan  and 
many  another  like  him  came  to  a  patriot's  reward ! 

Yes,  the  fever  must  run  its  course ;  and  day  after 
day  Mrs.  Eustis  turned  on  her  hard  bed,  where  noises 
racked  her  tortured  brain,  where  burning  heat  drank 


180  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

all  freshness  from  the  air,  where  noisome  smells  arose 
from  the  trenches  around  the  camp,  where,  worse 
than  all,  a  plague  of  insects  issued  from  the  pine 
walls  and  overran  their  quarters.  People  were  kind, 
and  from  the  wards,  where  Una  tried  to  take  her 
mother's  place,  came  many  a  message  of  love  and 
gratitude,  while  their  f  eUow-workers,  high  and  lowly, 
vied  with  each  other  in  striving  to  ease  the  burden 
that  little  Una  bore  so  patiently.  But  the  time  came 
when  Dr.  Lewis  saw  that,  to  recover,  his  patient  must 
breathe  another  atmosphere.  Faithful  Miss  Sprigg, 
from  her  retreat  in  the  country,  wrote  to  oif er  an  asy- 
lum to  Mrs.  Eustis,  whom  they  had  not  ventured  to 
tell  of  Denny  Ryan's  news,  in  a  farm-house  far  away 
from  the  town.  But  Miss  Sprigg  was  very  poor,  and 
it  was  as  much  as  her  kind  friends  could  do  to  take 
in  one  other  inmate  to  their  crowded  home.  Una 
must  remain  in  the  charge  of  Mrs.  Robbins  and  King 
David  at  the  hospital. 

Una  heard  this  decision  with  a  beating  heart.  Hard 
as  it  was,  it  gave  her  courage  to  unfold  to  Dr.  Lewis 
a  scheme  that  had  been  evolved  during  many  consul- 
tations between  King  David  and  herself. 

"You  are  sure  my  mother  is  out  of  danger,  Dr. 
Lewis?"  she  asked  their  kind  physician,  who  had 
quite  taken  this  "  brave  baby  "  to  his  heart. 

"  She  will  have  every  chance  now  in  her  favor. 
The  change  of  air  should  work  marvels.  If  it  were 
not  for  the  extraordinary  lassitude — her  strong 
nerves  seem  to  have  gone  all  to  pieces  suddenly; 
but  you  need  have  no  fear  at  being  separated  from 
her  for  a  while.     She  recognizes  the  inevitable,  and 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  181 

bows  to  it.  When  she  comes  back  to  us,  my  dear,  I 
hope  you  will  both  forget  this  present  trial,  as  nobly 
as  you  have  lived  down  all  the  rest." 

Una  saw  her  mother  driven  away  in  an  ambulance 
lent  by  Government  to  its  servant  fallen  by  the  way, 
and  then  turned  and  resolutely  faced  her  friends,  a 
new  light  shining  in  her  eyes. 

"■  There  is  but  one  thing  that  will  make  her  well, 
Dr.  Lewis,  and  you  and  Mrs.  Robbius  must  help  me 
to  work  it  out.  I  mean  to  keep  my  promise  to  my 
father,  and  give  her  back  to  him." 


"  That  little  sprite !  "  pondered  the  doctor  to  him- 
self. "And  that  simple-minded  old  darky,  who  was 
never  off  a  plantation  in  his  life  till  now !  The  idea 
seems  preposterous.  And  yet,  stranger  things  have 
been  accomplished;  there  's  a  chance.  In  time  of 
war  we  catch  at  straws.  Una  will  win  her  way  where 
a  battalion  might  fall  back.  God  bless  her!  I  '11  help 
her  all  I  can." 

Their  plan  was  to  journey  into  the  Valley,  and 
there  make  their  way  as  best  they  could  through 
the  debatable  ground  harried  by  frequent  fightings, 
to  Mount  Airy,  where,  from  Denny's  father,  the  lost 
clue  might  be  taken  up.  Means  for  the  journey 
were  secured  by  the  eager  sacrifice  of  Una's  string 
of  pearls,  an  heirloom  put  aside  against  her  time  of 
appearance  in  society.  The  few  clothes  she  ventured 
to  take  were  packed  in  a  portmanteau  by  Mrs,  Rob- 
bins,  Rose  and  Bridget,  who  showered  upon  their 
task  many  a  fervent  tear  and  blessing.  King 
16 


182  UNA  AND   KING  DAVID 

David's  equipment  for  the  enterprise  consisted  of  a 
parcel  so  fiat  and  spare  that  the  Doctor  laughed  when 
he  inquired  if  the  old  man  meant  to  carry  into  the 
Northern  lines  only  the  supposed  uniform  of  a  Geor- 
gia major — a  shirt-collar  and  a  pair  of  spurs. 

''And  ef  I  were  just  takin'  a  clean  bandanna  an'  a 
couple  o'  biled  collars  along,  sir,"  said  David,  with  a 
show  of  wounded  feeling,  "it  was  in  no  ways  my  pur- 
pose to  discredit  my  little  mistis  o'  Sundays,  on  the 
road.  There  's  always  cricks  and  runs,  sir,  where  I 
kin  do  my  washin'  overnight,  an'  I  need  my  hands  to 
carry  her  carpet-bag." 

''All  right,  old  fellow,  of  course  you  do.  It  was 
only  my  little  joke,"  the  surgeon  hastened  to  say, 
pressing  a  roll  of  Confederate  bluebacks  into  his 
hand.  "Put  this  into  your  pipe  and  smoke  it  on  the 
way.  And  mind — but  I  need  n't  tell  you  this — to 
keep  watch  over  your  Miss  Una  day  and  night." 

"  Sarvant,  sir,  much  obleeged  to  you,"  answered 
the  old  darky,  bowing  like  a  prince.  "You  won't 
have  any  call  to  be  disapp'inted  in  them  particulars 
with  me.  The  Lawd  do  so  with  me  and  mine  ef  I 
ain't  worthy  of  this  trus'." 

Dr.  Lewis  saw  the  travelers  off  on  the  train  for 
Lynchburg,  and  turned  back  with  a  tightening  in 
his  throat. 

"It  's  womankind  like  that,  that  make  the  true 
sinews  of  war,  I  'm  thinking,"  muttered  he  in  his 
black  beard. 

A  day  later  the  travelers  set  forth  on  the  first 
stage  of  their  haphazard  journey  through  a  region 
where  all  ordinary  methods  of  conveyance  had  been 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  183 

interrupted  by  war.  It  was  an  earthly  paradise,  that 
fertile  vale,  dominated  by  the  grand  Peaks  of  Otter 
or  watered  by  Shenandoah, "  Daughter  of  the  Stars." 
But  a  few  weeks  earlier,  Sigel's  boys  in  blue  had 
marched  merrily  along  those  green  defiles  to  find  their 
way  blocked  by  Breckenridge,  his  depleted  ranks  of 
veterans  eked  out  with  lads  from  the  Military  Acad- 
emy at  Lexington,  whose  gallant  fight  has  gone  into 
history  among  the  famous  achievements  of  the  time. 
At  Piedmont,  again,  the  "rebs"  were  put  to  rout,  their 
leader  killed.  And  so  the  pendulum  went  on  vibrat- 
ing in  those  days  of  early  June. 

Una  found  herself  in  the  rear  of  a  hooded  cart 
drawn  by  mules,  sitting  amid  crates  that  had  held 
poultry,  the  space  in  front  filled  up  by  King  David 
and  the  driver — a  farmer  returning  from  the  nearest 
town,  where  he  had  been  to  sell  his  feathered  live- 
stock at  a  sacrifice  to  avoid  having  them  "  pressed  " 
by  stragglers  from  either  of  the  armies.  It  was  slow 
progress ;  but  the  child,  whose  eyes  had  rested  for  so 
long  upon  rows  of  wards  and  tents,  and  grass  trodden 
into  a  clay  soil,  gazed  from  the  aperture  at  the  back 
enchanted.  What  to  her  were  fallen  fences,  fields 
trampled  by  cavalry,  burned  houses,  when  above  rose 
those  sapphire  summits  melting  into  the  vast  azure  of 
a  sky  in  June  1  "When  the  mules  splashed  aside  into  a 
shallow,  limpid  stream,  and  dipped  their  noses  in  for 
a  long  and  rapturous  drink,  King  David  scrambled 
out  and  brought  her  a  bunch  of  calycanthus  shrubs, 
with  a  leaf-cup  full  of  currants  from  the  garden  of  a 
desolated  farm-house  by  the  road.  Trifles  like  this, 
with  the  music  of  wayside  brooks,  the  carol  of  birds, 


184  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

the  shifting  of  cloud-prints  on  the  mountain-sides, 
made  variety  enough  to  wile  away  the  long  hours  of 
plodding.  Tired  out  at  last,  toward  evening  she  fell 
asleep  on  a  bundle  of  hay  in  the  bottom  of  the  cart, 
nor  stirred  till  the  stopping  of  their  wheels  showed 
that  they  had  arrived  at  a  dwelling  dimly  indicated 
by  a  light  streaming  upon  darkness,  and  the  loud 
barking  of  a  dog. 

"  Wake  up,  my  honey ;  you  must  ask  the  lady  of 
the  house  —  ra'al  purty,  the  purtiest  you  can  —  to  let 
you  stop  here  to-night." 

Una  could  not  know  that  the  faint-hearted  quaver 
in  King  David's  voice,  and  the  total  withdrawal  of 
farmer  Lucas  from  participation  in  the  affair,  were 
due  to  their  wholesome  fear  of  the  farmer's  shrewish 
wife.  They  had  come  to  a  halt  before  a  threshold 
within  which  stood,  clad  in  domestic  cotton,  lamp  in 
hand,  a  gaunt  figure  sending  forth  upon  the  night 
the  querulous  utterings  of  a  woman  who  casts  about 
her  for  a  wrong ;  and  Una,  half  awake,  was  urged 
forward  by  the  men  to  stand  where  the  light  fell 
upon  her  upturned,  pleading  face.  With  the  quaint 
courtesy  habitual  to  her,  she  told  her  tale  and  prof- 
fered her  request. 

"Well,  you  do  be  a  mite  to  be  travelin'  around 
like  this,  an'  nuthin'  but  that  old  nigger-man  to  look 
out  for  you.  Long  's  you  're  here,  got  to  take  you 
in,  I  reckon ;  but  that  nigger  's  got  to  march  out  to 
the  barn,  double-quick.  Sick  an'  tired  am  I  of  lodg- 
in'  strangers,  an'  bein'  eat  out  o'  house  an'  home; 
an'  Mr.  Lucas  knows  it  well  enough." 

Mr.  Lucas,  in  the  shadow  of  the  cart,  bestowed 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  185 

upon  King  David  a  jovial  nudge  to  signify  that  mat- 
ters had  taken  a  satisfactory  turn ;  and  the  men  dis- 
appeared together  in  the  friendly  darkness,  while 
Una  followed  her  guide  into  the  house.  Here,  al- 
though the  complaining  voice  ceased  not  to  find 
fault  with  everything,  the  guest,  ensconced  in  an 
arm-chair,  was  served,  from  a  flowered  plate  and  cup, 
with  crisp  johnny-cake  and  milk.  A  cat  nestling  to 
her  knee  and  finally  jumping  into  her  lap  to  wreathe 
its  tail  across  her  neck,  completed  her  sense  of  com- 
fort. And  when  her  sleepy  yellow  head  nodded 
upon  her  breast,  a  pair  of  long,  thin  arms  that  were 
certainly  not  David's  swooped  down  and  bore  the 
little  traveler  to  bed. 

Late  in  the  night,  a  sound  as  of  thunder  broke 
Una's  sleep.  She  sat  up  in  her  bed  beneath  the 
roof-peak  and  awoke  gradually,  to  hear  the  tramp- 
ling of  horses  around  the  house.  Voices  hailed  the 
slumberers  within,  a  knock  resounding  upon  the 
door.  Then,  over  the  tumult,  arose  a  familiar  sound 
— the  scolding  of  Mrs.  Lucas.  The  remonstrant 
tones  of  the  farmer  appealed  at  intervals,  in  vain. 
"When  at  last  the  door  opened,  and  the  master  of  the 
house,  in  shirt  and  trousers,  issued  desperately  forth, 
a  torrent  of  fresh  invective  followed  him. 

"  Blamed  if  I  had  n't  rather  sleep  on  your  hay,  old 
man,  than  face  that  battery  inside,"  said  a  hearty  voice. 
"  But  we  're  obliged  to  ask  you  for  a  sup  and  bite. 
We  're  Cornfeds,  and  blasted  hungry  ones  at  that." 

^'  Cornfeds  or  Yanks,  it 's  all  one  to  me,"  was  the 
reply  from  behind  the  door.  "  It  '11  be  like  as  if  the 
seventeen-year  locusts  had  passed  over  this  place." 


186  UNA  AND  KING   DAVID 

But  the  soldiers  had  their  way,  and  the  little  house 
soon  shook  with  their  tread,  while  talk  and  laughter, 
tobacco-smoke  and  the  clank  of  accoutrements  came 
up  the  narrow  stair  to  Una's  ear.  When  she  had 
heard  the  men  divide  forces,  one  half  to  sleep  on  the 
hay  in  the  barn  beside  the  horses,  the  rest  to  sprawl 
as  they  could  on  the  floor  of  the  living-room  below, 
the  child  went  back  smiling  to  her  nest,  nor  stirred 
till  next  morning's  light  brought  the  apparition  of 
the  farmer's  wife  to  mingle  with  some  dream  that  her 
mother's  fingers  had  been  toying  with  her  hair. 

"  Come,  git  up  now,"  Mrs.  Lucas  said  sharply,  emp- 
tying a  pail  of  clean  water  into  a  tub  at  her  bedside. 
"  There  's  soap  and  a  towel  on  the  cheer,  and  I  've 
shuck  out  your  things.  Soon  as  you  's  ready,  you 
kin  come  down  and  git  a  mouthful  o'  breakfast  I 
saved  after  them  consarned  critters  had  clar'd  out. 
Would  n't  have  had  an  aig  to  bless  myself  if  I  had  n't 
locked  up  my  two  best  hens  in  the  cupboard  with  the 
old  man's  Sunday  clo'es." 

"  Oh !  have  the  soldiers  gone  ? "  cried  Una,  in  dis- 
appointment. 

"Yes,  thank  goodness,  all  but  two  on  'em,  and 
they  'd  be  sleepin'  yet,  but  I  broomed  'em  off  the 
floor  with  a  mop  and  a  pail  o'  water." 

"  How  good  you  are  to  give  me  this  nice  bath,  and 
to  get  my  clothes  so  clean,"  the  child  said  grate- 
fully, sitting  up  in  bed,  and  letting  all  her  bright 
hair  loose  like  a  glory  around  her  face.  "It  's  just 
what  my  own  mother  would  have  done.  It  seems 
such  a  pity  you  have  n't  any  little  girl  to  love  and 
take  care  of." 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  187 

The  woman  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  with  a  cu- 
riously softened  gaze ;  then,  with  her  mouth  twitch- 
ing, went  over  to  a  chest  in  the  corner  and  took  out 
a  child's  frock  and  sunbonnet  of  faded  pink  calico, 
smelling  of  lavender. 

"  Them  was  my  gal's,"  she  said  briefly.  "  Died  o' 
scarlet  fever  'bout  your  age.  Hed  hair  like  corn-silk, 
jest  like  yours.  Come  now,  up  with  you,  and  dress 
yourself.  Hain't  time  to  dawdle  here,  and  all  my 
work  a-waitin'  to  be  done."  And,  whirling  out  of  the 
room,  she  shut  the  door  with  a  vicious  snap. 

Una  slipped  down,  to  find  a  meal  laid  for  her  be- 
low. The  room  was  in  spotless  order,  and  empty  but 
for  her  friend  the  cat;  but  on  the  door-stone  out- 
side sat  a  couple  of  gray-shirted  soldiers,  smoking 
corn-cob  pipes  in  the  cool  shadow  of  a  lilac-bush  in 
bloom ;  David,  in  the  road  beyond,  held  their  horses, 
champing  to  be  off.  At  sight  of  the  child,  refreshed 
by  sleep  and  dewy  from  her  bath,  the  men  pulled 
themselves  together,  and  one  of  them,  a  huge  fellow 
with  a  boy's  face,  gazed  with  open-mouthed  admira- 
tion. The  other,  a  lieutenant  in  command  of  the 
body  of  scouts  that  had  gone  on  ahead,  spoke  to  her 
courteously. 

"  I  've  been  hearing  about  your  trip  from  uncle, 
here,"  he  said,  **  and  I  wish  K  Company  could  help 
you  along  the  way,  Miss.  But  just  now,  unless  we  're 
turned  back,  we  're  going  in  the  opposite  direction 
from  Glenmont  where  you  're  bound.  Road 's  pretty 
free  from  Yanks ;  that 's  one  comfort ;  and  I  've  told 
the  old  man  the  best  way  to  go." 

"  Oh !   thank  you,"  said  Una,  fervently.     "  If  you 


188  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

knew  how  sound  it  made  me  sleep  when  I  heard  our 
dear  soldiers  ride  up  here  last  night ! " 

But  the  colloquy  was  interrupted  by  Mrs.  Lucas, 
who,  frying-pan  in  hand,  issued  from  the  door,  and 
demanded  to  know  if  "  them  calvary  was  a-goin'  to 
block  up  her  front  door  all  day?"  at  which  a  general 
shrinkage  of  spirit  ensued  among  the  men-folk  in 
hearing  of  her  voice,  and  the  troopers  hastily  sprang 
into  their  stirrups  and  galloped  off,  singing  mock- 
ingly: 

"  If  you  want  to  have  a  good  time, 
Jine  the  calvary,  jine  the  calvary." 

"  We  has  to  foot  it  a  good  piece  to-day,  my  honey," 
said  King  David,  when  the  travelers,  having  paid 
their  bill,  set  out,  under  fire  of  a  tornado  of  abuse 
of  him  because  of  a  muddy  footprint  he  left  on  the 
floor  on  meekly  entering  to  take  Una's  bag  in  hand. 

"  I  wish  she  had  said  good-by,"  said  Una,  distress- 
fully, "  See  here.  King  David,  as  she  almost  pushed 
me  out,  she  put  in  my  hand  this  nice  parcel  of  lunch. 
I  think  she  's  the  strangest  woman  I  ever  saw,  but  she 
must  be  really  good  at  heart,  don't  you  think  so!" 

Thus  cornered,  David  scratched  his  head.  They 
were  under  shelter  of  the  hen-house,  and  compara- 
tively safe.  Drawing  a  long  breath,  he  said  in  the 
discreetest  of  whispers: 

"It  ain't  the  first  time  the  good  Lawd  has  made 
honey  to  come  out  of  a  cur'us  place,  chile.  The  car- 
cass of  the  lion  brought  f o'th  sweetness.  Gawd  moves 
in  a  mysterious  way,  his  wonders  to  perfo'm." 

Past  blossoming    hedge-rows,  past  orchard    and 


UNA  AND   KING  DAVID  189 

meadow  fragrant  with  smells  of  June,  into  an  arch- 
ing wood-road  as  the  sun  climbed  higher.  Una 
thought  there  could  be  no  method  of  travel  so  much 
to  her  taste.  Their  destination  was  the  house  of  a 
farmer  from  whom  it  was  likely  they  could  hire  a 
horse  and  cart  to  forward  them  on  their  way.  But 
when,  just  as  the  child's  strength  and  spirit  began  to 
flag,  and  they  came  at  noontide  out  of  the  cross-cut 
through  the  woods  upon  the  clearing  to  which  they 
had  been  directed,  a  direful  disappointment  greeted 
them.  House  and  outbuildings  there  were  none; 
only  a  series  of  charred  spots  remained  in  the  middle 
of  a  trampled  and  desolated  field  of  growing  corn. 

'*  It 's  a  fresh  fire — smokin'  yit,"  said  King  David. 
"  Lawd  help  the  pore  folks  as  was  driv'  away  from 
here." 

While  the  two  stood  disconsolate,  a  clatter  of  hoofs 
was  heard  in  a  bit  of  woods  beyond. 

"It  's  cavalry,  honey,"  said  King  David,  breath- 
lessly. "  Let 's  git  in  hidin'  behind  that  clump  o' 
sumacs  yonder.     They  '11  never  look  to  see  us  here." 

Before  Una  had  time  to  realize  her  fear,  the  sol- 
diers were  upon  them,  and,  identifying  the  party  of 
Confederates  who  had  slept  overnight  at  the  Lucas 
farm,  King  David  waved  his  old  hat  with  a  rousing 
cheer. 

"  HeUo,  old  tarrypin,  did  n't  expect  to  see  us  again 
so  soon,"  called  out  their  leader,  coming  to  a  halt. 
'^  "Well,  boys,  this  is  the  place  we  're  to  wait  for  the 
lieutenant,  and  if  I  'm  not  mistaken,  there  's  a  good 
spring  at  the  end  of  the  path  behind  that  watermelon 
patch." 


190  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

In  a  trice  the  horses  were  unsaddled  and  tethered 
in  the  wood.  Canteens  were  filled  at  the  spring,  ra- 
tions were  produced,  and  the  bivouac  began. 

From  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  where  Una  sat  to 
eat  her  luncheon,  while  King  David  knelt  brushing 
her  dusty  boots,  she  looked  over  affectionately  at  the 
ring  of  troopers  lolling  like  Olympian  gods  at  ease. 
Presently  a  couple  of  horsemen  came  galloping  out 
of  the  glade,  and  she  recognized  with  delight  her 
friends  of  the  morning. 

''  "Well,  Miss,  we  Ve  met  again  sooner  than  we 
thought,"  said  the  lieutenant.  ''  This  is  a  bad  busi- 
ness for  poor  farmer  Gray.  We  heard  down  below 
that  he  'd  been  raided  last  night,  and  it  seems  the 
family  's  cleared  out  for  parts  unknown.  The  near- 
est place  for  you  to  sleep  to-night  is  Glenmont,  ten 
miles  off,  and  it  's  past  me  how  you  're  goin'  to  get 
there  in  this  heat.  We  Ve  got  a  pair  of  extra  nags 
since  yesterday,  and  if  you  can  manage  to  sit  on  a 
man's  saddle.  Miss,  we  '11  mount  you,  after  dark, 
when  we  move  on.  I  s'pose  you  can  stick  to  a  bare- 
back colt,  old  man,  eh?" 

''I  reckon  thar  ain't  much  hoss-flesh  that  can  bet- 
ter me,  sir,"  said  David,  his  eyes  shining  with  delight 
at  the  unlooked-for  help.  ''  An'  I  'm  beholden  to  you 
more  than  I  can  say,  for  givin'  a  lift  to  my  little 
mistis." 

As  Una's  story  found  its  way  to  the  ears  of  the  cu- 
rious troopers,  there  was  not  a  man  among  them  who 
did  not  mentally  constitute  himself  her  protector  and 
devotee.  But  when,  at  dark,  she  was  lifted  up  to  sit 
behind  the  peak  of  a  cavalry-saddle,  where  she  kept 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  191 

to  her  slippery  perch  with  an  ease  born  of  early  habit, 
she  found  at  her  bridle-rein  John  Britton,  the  big  lum- 
bering fellow  who  had  been  the  comrade  of  the  lieu- 
tenant at  the  farm.  King  David,  astride  of  a  frisky 
filly  who  till  that  morning  had  been  at  large  in  com- 
fortable pastures,  had  as  much  as  he  could  do  to  keep 
the  wilful  creature's  back.  Una's  huge  knight  held 
along  with  her,  saying  little,  but  watching  every 
movement  of  her  horse,  while  before,  behind  and  on 
the  other  side  rode  her  stalwart  body-guard.  Forward 
in  dead  silence,  making  little  noise  on  the  soft  wood 
road,  listening  to  every  rustle  of  the  leaves,  passed 
the  ghostly  cavalcade,  under  the  light  of  stars,  amid 
the  chirp  of  the  frogs,  the  chant  of  whippoorwills. 

In  thick  darkness.  A  little  hamlet  with  shutters  ob- 
stinately closed,  behind  which  lights  glimmered  like 
eyes  watching  through  half-shut  lids.  At  the  first 
stroke  of  horses'  hoofs  upon  the  narrow  street,  some 
of  the  lights  went  out,  keys  and  bolts  were  heard  to 
creak  in  their  wards.  One  could  almost  count  the 
heart-beats  of  the  anxious  folk  inside.  Then  a  ser- 
geant, who  could  whistle  like  a  bird,  uttered  a  bar  or 
two  of  *'  The  Bonnie  Blue  Flag,"  and,  at  once,  open 
flew  doors  and  windows,  out  trooped  the  villagers, 
offering  food  and  shelter  for  man  and  beast. 

Una,  taken  into  the  home  and  tucked  under  the 
diamond-patterned  quilt  of  a  good  old  dressmaker, 
slept  deliciously  till  dawn,  when  it  was  agreed  by 
her  friend  the  lieutenant  that  she  should  again  re- 
sume the  march  with  him  under  the  conditions  of 
the  night  before.  The  old  woman  cried  over  her  as 
she  brought  out  a  feather  pillow  for  a  saddle-pad, 


192  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

and  tucked  a  bagful  of  biscuits  and  cookies  into  the 
child's  lap.  Una  herself  had  no  thought  of  tears  as 
she  rode  triumphantly  away.  She  knew  that  every 
movement  forward  brought  her  nearer  her  precious 
goal.  The  troopers,  won  more  and  more  by  her 
modest  acceptance  of  their  comradeship,  treated  her 
like  a  little  wandering  queen  assigned  to  their  spe- 
cial charge.  But  it  was  to  big  John  Britton,  known 
familiarly  to  them  as  ''Baby  Mine,"  the  others  tacitly 
awarded  the  right  of  attendance  at  her  bridle-rein. 
When  they  reached  the  river  ford,  he  stretched  forth 
a  mighty  arm  to  lift  her  like  a  thistle-down  upon  his 
horse's  neck,  and,  plunging  in,  they  buffeted  the  noisy 
yellow  current  gallantly.  Una's  cheeks  bloomed  and 
her  eyes  sparkled  as  their  horse  emerged  dripping 
and  snorting  with  excitement,  first  to  gain  a  foothold 
upon  the  slippery  far  bank.  Then,  as  the  day  wore 
on,  how  sweet  the  odor  of  the  woods,  the  shady  biv- 
ouac to  lunch  upon  soldier's  fare !  And  the  joy  of 
the  long  bright  afternoon,  broken  by  mysterious  ap- 
pearances ahead  of  scouts  to  proclaim  the  way  secure ! 
She  watched  almost  grudgingly  the  day  decline  that 
was  to  be  her  last  of  such  congenial  fellowship. 

"Well,  I  reckon  the  best  of  friends  must  part," 
said  the  lieutenant,  when  in  the  evening  they  put  her 
with  her  old  man  down  at  a  roadside  house.  He 
made  an  attempt  to  be  jocular,  but  his  keen  eyes 
showed  his  sympathy  with  the  waifs  thus  set  adrift. 

Una,  in  her  confiding  way,  went  the  rounds  of  her 
bod3'--guard,  shaking  hands  with  each,  and  standing 
on  tiptoe,  last  of  all,  to  leave  a  kiss  and  a  tear  between 
the  eyes  of  her  good  gray  steed. 


UNA  AND   KING  DAVID  193 

"Oh!  I  shall  never,  never  forget  you,"  she  said 
with  a  pathetic  break  in  her  voice  as  she  stood  facing 
them.  "And  when  I  see  papa  I  shall  tell  him  how 
soldiers  helped  a  soldier's  daughter.  Good-by,  good- 
by,  d  3ar  friends,  and  thank  you  a  thousand  times." 

Last  to  take  leave  of  her  was  "  Baby  Mine."  He 
had  a  sheepish  look  upon  his  sunburned  face,  and  as 
Una  offered  him  her  hand  with  a  graciously  tender 
smile,  he  bowed  low  as  if  he  meant  to  press  his  lips 
to  it,  then,  blushing  scarlet,  desisted  and  turned  awk- 
wardly away.  In  her  clasp,  however,  he  left  a  crum- 
pled leaf  from  a  soldier's  pocket-book,  on  which, 
when  they  were  out  of  sight,  Una  read  these  penciled 
words : 

Wen  yo  mete  yore  pa,  tell  him  yo  have  maid  a  bad  man  pray 
that  he  may  git  yo  safe,  an'  I  am  yore  frend  til  deth. 

John  Britton, 
Co., Kegt.,  Va.  Cavlry. 


in 

"Keep  your  sperets  up,  my  baby,"  said  King  Da- 
vid, forcing  a  cheerful  note.  "  They  's  boun'  to  be  a 
house  somewheres  along  here." 

It  was  the  close  of  their  third  day  afoot.  In  the 
dusty  highway,  under  the  vertical  beams  of  a  summer 
sun,  Una  had  walked,  until  a  happy  cross-cut  through 
field  and  forest  had  cooled  her  sore  feet  in  verdure; 
but  now  her  white  cheeks  and  flagging  steps  told  the 
tale  of  her  fatigue.  They  had  wasted  time  and 
strength  in  losing  their  way  in  this  region  denuded 
17 


194  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

of  ordinary  landmarks  by  the  war-cyclone.  The  bet- 
ter class  of  houses  they  had  passed  were  mostly  va- 
cant. The  cabins  where  disheartened  poor  whites 
and  negroes  stiU.  lingered  were  a  sorry  refuge.  They 
had  gone  hungry  for  miles  to-day;  and  now  upon 
the  horizon  King  David's  eager  eye  beheld  no  sign 
of  human  habitation. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  might  camp  here  in  the  woods, 
King  David?"  she  asked,  breaking  her  patient  silence. 
"  Anything  would  be  better  than  the  house  we  slept 
in  last  night." 

"  My  little  mistis  sha'n't  sleep  on  the  ground  if  I 
can  holp  it,"  the  negro  answered  in  the  most  lively 
tones  at  his  command.  Inside,  the  heart  of  him  was 
lead.  He  saw  violet  shadows  coming  upon  the  pearl 
of  her  cheeks ;  and  at  the  foot  of  the  next  rise  of  the 
road  she  stopped  and  panted. 

"  Honey  lamb,  you  're  not  a-goin'  to  faint  1 "  he 
cried.  Una  did  not  speak,  but  smiled  at  him  after  a 
wan  fashion.  Picking  her  up  in  his  arms,  the  old 
man  went  a  few  paces  up  the  hill  and  scoured  the 
region  ahead  of  him  with  his  gaze.  A  little  way 
before,  he  saw  the  gable  of  a  house,  with  what  he  took 
to  be  a  lamp  shining  out  of  its  casement. 

"  Glory  Hallelujah ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Ef  thar  ain't 
some  Christian  soul  that  lit  her  lamp  to  be  a  light 
unto  our  feet.  Now,  little  Miss,  you  just  keep  quiet 
and  let  me  carry  you." 

Una  could  not  remonstrate,  so  spent  were  her 
forces.  She  lay  very  still  as  he  toiled  upward,  keep- 
ing her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  heaven  above. 

"  King  David." 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  195 

"  What  say,  cliile ! " 

"  Do  you  remember  that  picture  of  a  young  man, 
over  the  sideboard  in  the  Mount  Airy  dining-room ?" 

"  Sartin  I  does,  Miss  Una.  He  was  one  o'  them 
grancestors  of  your  pa's  in  England,  I  've  heard  tell. 
A  powerful  sot-lookin'  young  gentleman." 

"All  our  lives,  Hal  and  I  have  wanted  to  have  a 
chance  to  do  something  like  what  he  did.  Some- 
thing that  never  seemed  likely  to  happen  in  our 
quiet  country  lives." 

''En  what  did  the  gentleman  do,  honey?  'Pears 
like  I  've  heard,  but  I  kind  o'  disremember." 

Thus  cunning  David  tried  to  wile  her  into  forget- 
fulness  of  the  stress  of  this  hour  that  filled  his  own 
heart  with  aching. 

"He  was  a  young  soldier.  King  David,  and  he 
lived  about  two  hundred  years  ago.  He  was  sent  on 
a  journey  full  of  danger,  to  carry  a  message  that 
would  help  to  restore  a  king  to  his  rightful  throne. 
It  was  a  journey  a  little  like  ours,  King  David,  in  a 
country  where  soldiers  were  roaming  around  on 
horseback — moss-troopers  they  were  called.  .  .  . 
Hal  and  I  often  played  'Sir  Lionel.'  Hal  always 
wanted  to  be  it,  you  know,  but  he  said  I  could  n't  be 
fierce  enough  for  the  robber,  and  so  I  was  generally 
Sir  Lionel.     .     .     .    Are  you  listening,  King  David?" 

"  Sure  I  is.  Miss  Una." 

"  The  real  Sir  Lionel  had  to  go  in  winter,  and  that 
was  far  worse  than  ours.  He  wrote  that  story  about 
it  in  the  yellow  old  paper  papa  keeps  in  the  secretary 
in  his  study.  .  ,  .  He  rode  on  and  on  over  hill 
and  dale, '  where  the  moonshine  and  the  snow  made 


196  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

the  nights  as  clear  as  day.'  I  always  remember 
that.  .  .  .  '  Iter  Boreale/  he  called  it  .  .  .  that 
means  a  northern  journey,  King  David  ...  I  never 
thought  I  should  take  a  real  northern  journey  with- 
out Hal.   .   .   ." 

"  Miss  Una,  is  you  mindin'  what  I  told  you  about 
keepin'  your  sperets  up, — for  your  mothei*'s  and 
father's  sakes,  my  dear  1 " 

"Of  course  I  mind;  .  .  .  the  only  trouble  I  have 
is  that  I  am  so  heavy  for  you  to  carry." 

"  No  mor'  'n  a  snow-bird  on  a  cedar  twig,  my  honey. 
Can't  you  tell  me  some  more  about  your  pa's  brave 
grancestor  ? " 

"  One  night,  in  the  dale  country,  Sir  Lionel  was  set 
upon  by  a  notorious  robber,  with  whom  he  had  a 
fierce  fight  —  Anthony  Eliot,  the  robber  was,  and 
they  hanged  him  the  next  year  at  Carlisle.  .  .  .  Hal 
never  could  make  me  be  *  Anthony  Eliot.'  ...  It 's 
a  long  story  to  tell,  King  David,  and  I  'm  a  little 
tired  of  talking  .  .  .  but  the  end  was  that  Sir  Lionel 
got  safe  to  General  Monk — and  gave  the  message. 
If  he  had  lost  heart  on  the  way,  he  could  never 
have  given  the  message.  And  I  must  n't  lose  heart, 
must  I,  till  I  give  mine  ?  •' 

Her  voice  ceased  in  sheer  weariness.  Tired  King 
David  quickened  his  pace.  Oh !  for  shelter,  drink, 
food  for  his  darling,  what  could  he  not  have  borne! 
He  managed  to  stagger  into  the  little  yard  before  the 
house,  and  seat  Una  upon  a  broken  bench.  And  then 
he  knocked  upon  the  door. 

No  answer.  King  David  went  around  to  the  rear — 
to  find  the  place  untenanted.     The  light  he  had  seen 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  197 

was  a  reflection  of  the  setting  sun  upon  a  shattered 
pane !  He  climbed  through  a  window,  opened  a  door, 
and  carried  the  child  within.  Rummaging  the  rooms, 
he  found  a  quantity  of  clean  straw  with  which  he 
made  for  her  a  couch ;  and,  lying  there,  her  patient 
eyes  followed  the  old  man's  movements  lovingly.  A 
well  of  clear  water  near  the  house  supplied  them  with 
drink,  and  a  bath  for  her  wounded  feet ;  and  David 
had  soon  a  bright  fire  crackling  on  the  kitchen  hearth. 
But  food,  whence  was  it  to  come?  King  David 
groaned  within.  Following  out  the  well-path  to  a 
deserted  garden,  he  smelt  the  rich  fragrance  of  rasp- 
berries, and  a  cabbage-leaf  full  of  these  dainties  was 
soon  picked  and  eagerly  enjoyed.  Warmed  by  suc- 
cess, the  old  negro  prowled  off  again  into  the  now 
gathering  darkness.  Una  heard  a  squawk  of  some 
feathered  biped  in  distress,  and  immediately  King 
David  reappeared,  bearing  in  triumph  the  mortal  re- 
mains of  a  fine  young  fowl,  captured  upon  the  roost 
of  a  recently  full  hen-house. 

It  would  have  been  hard  to  find  any  of  the  lower 
domestic  arts  in  which  David  did  not  justify  Mount 
Airy  'raisin'.'  How  he  contrived  it  Una  did  not 
know,  but  ere  long  there  he  was  by  her  side,  holding 
a  broken  china  plate,  upon  which  smoked  a  morsel 
of  broiled  chicken,  whose  flavor  was  certainl}'^  be- 
yond all  criticism  from  her. 

For  safety's  sake,  he  moved  her  bed  to  a  room 
above,  lying  down  across  her  door  outside,  with  his 
head  upon  her  valise.  When  her  even  breathing 
announced  the  girl  asleep,  the  old  man  thanked 
God  and  fell  himself  into  a  doze. 


198  UNA  AND   KING  DAVID 

Again  the  tramp  of  horses,  late  in  the  night. 
David,  awake  in  an  instant,  crept  to  a  front  window 
and  looked  out.  He  saw  a  considerable  body  of  cav- 
alry draw  rein  below,  and  while  their  horses  chafed 
upon  their  bits,  heard  the  consultation  of  their  officers. 

''  Empty  as  a  last  year's  nest,"  said  a  voice  that 
David  knew,  with  a  thrill,  to  be  not  one  familiar  to 
his  native  heath.  And  then  a  match  flared  out  into 
the  night,  and  he  saw  the  Federal  uniforms.  ^'No- 
thing to  be  got  here,  that 's  plain,  to  help  us  to  track 
the  Johnny  Rebs.  Well,  boys,  we  'U  get  along,  and, 
luck  helping  us,  be  on  their  heels  by  daybreak." 

They  rode  off  in  splendid  style,  and  King  David 
dozed  no  more.  Early  in  the  morning  he  aroused 
Una,  and  sharing  the  remainder  of  their  food,  the 
two  set  out  again  upon  their  weary  way.  How  she 
was  to  endure  another  day's  walk  he  could  not  tell; 
but  in  the  refreshing  cool  of  dawn  they  followed  a 
wood-path  for  a  couple  of  hours,  emerging  unexpect- 
edly upon  a  spot  where  four  roads  met.  Here  a 
pleasant  spectacle  awaited  them.  Three  ladies  of 
gentle  and  kindly  aspect  were  sitting  on  chairs  on 
a  farm-wagon  piled  high  with  household  goods,  to 
which  a  negro  boy  was  engaged  in  harnessing  a  pair 
of  stalwart  mules  that  had  been  baiting  on  the  way. 
Better  than  all,  the  ladies  were  breakfasting  from  an 
ample  well-filled  basket  at  their  feet,  and  they  cast 
upon  Una  a  look  of  such  compassionate  astonish- 
ment as  warmed  poor  David  to  the  core. 

"  For  gracious  sake  !  what  is  that  lovely  child  do- 
ing away  off  here  with  that  old  darky?"  said  the 
oldest  of  the  three.     "  Come  here,  uncle,  and  give  a 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  199 

report  of  yourself.  You  dou't  belong  hereabouts,  I  '11 
wager  a  pretty  penny ;  nor  does  she.  Don't  you 
know  better  than  to  take  her  tramping  about  in  the 
track  of  the  armies,  eh?" 

"  We  ain't  no  choice,  madam,"  said  David,  with  his 
old-fashioned  deference,  standing  hatless  at  the  bar 
of  justice.  ''This  here  young  lady  is  my  little 
mistis — Miss  Una  Eustis,  of  Mount  Airy — and  we 
are  on  our  way — " 

"  Eustis,  of  Mount  Airy  !"  said  the  lady,  letting  fall 
her  knife  and  fork.  "  Why,  child,  your  father  is  my 
second  cousin  once  removed.  Did  you  never  hear 
him  speak  of  his  cousin  Septimia  Baskerville,  of  the 
Bower?  Come  up  here  this  minute,  and  get  some 
breakfast;  and  tell  me  if  you  dropped  out  of  the 
sky." 

That  Una's  oft-repeated  story  brought  moisture 
into  the  eyes  of  her  new-found  relatives,  we  may  be 
sure.  But  Mrs.  Baskerville  was  a  cheery  soul  and, 
above  all,  practical ;  and  her  first  action  was  to  see 
both  travelers  comfortably  fed,  while  her  tongue 
wagged  incessantly  in  comment. 

"■  Well !  well !  well !  Wonders  will  never  cease, 
these  war  times.  Girls,  you  have  often  heard  me 
speak  of  your  cousin,  poor  dear  Sainty  Eustis  —  this 
child  has  his  mouth  and  eyes  to  a  T.  My  child,  if 
I  'd  a  roof  to  cover  me,  I  'd  take  you  under  it  and  get 
you  started  off  with  a  proper  escort.  But  we  're  refu- 
geeing,  as  you  see.  Heard  last  night  that  our  house 
was  threatened  because  my  husband  's  a  Confederate 
brigadier,  and  started  off  at  3  a.  m.  Expect  to  sleeji 
to-night  at  my  brother's,  in  the  next  county.     We 


200       "  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

are  sure  of  one  thing — the  Yankee  cavalry  have  just 
passed  down  the  road  we  've  got  to  travel.  Here, 
child,  sit  in  my  lap;  and  you  squeeze  in,  old  man, 
somewhere  beside  Scip. 

"  Where  's  my  pistol  now  ?  Don't  pack  it  with  the 
lunch.  Bess  and  Jinnie — I  never  saw  such  girls! — 
what  are  you  laughin'  at?" 

"Another  time,  mother  dear,"  said  Bess,  a  young 
person  with  many  dimples,  '^  when  we  set  out  to  refu- 
gee, if  it 's  all  the  same  to  you,  I  'd  rather  leave  the 
ancestors  at  home.  'If  it  was  n't  for  the  honor  of 
the  thing,  I  'd  just  as  soon  have  walked,'  as  the  Irish- 
man said  when  he  rode  in  a  sedan-chair  without  a 
bottom." 

'^  Yes,  indeed,  mother,"  chimed  in  Miss  Jinnie,  try- 
ing to  keep  her  perch  upon  a  miscellaneous  pile  of 
picture-frames  and  furniture;  "I  'm  having  a  dreadful 
time  with  great-grandpapa,  who  will  hang  over  the 
wheel.  And  as  for  old  Aunt  Dorothy,  for  a  court 
lady  she  's  positively  ill-behaved.  The  only  one  of 
them  who  lies  low  and  gives  no  trouble  is  the  Conti- 
nental general,  and  he 's  as  good  as  gold." 

"  That  Jinnie  is  a  case,"  said  Mrs.  Baskerville, 
smiling.  "  Could  n't  leave  Aunt  Dorothy,  who  's  a 
genuine  Vandyck,  to  be  burned  or  to  have  holes 
shot  through  her  —  could  I,  dear?  Now,  Scip,  get 
ahead,  and  make  those  mules  travel  till  we  've  turned 
into  the  other  road,  where  it  is  n't  likely  we  'U  meet 
the  enemy." 

Una,  wondering,  was  taken  to  the  hearts  of  these 
brave  women  in  a  most  consoling  fashion.  Her 
limbs  relaxed,  and  she  slept  most  of  the  morning. 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  201 

clasped  in  the  arms  of  first  one,  then  another;  and 
when  she  awoke  it  was  to  find  the  way  beguiled  by- 
quips  and  cranks  of  wit  from  the  merry  sisters,  with 
soothing  assurances  from  their  mother  that,  as  far  as 
their  ways  lay  together,  she  should  know  no  want 
or  harm.  That  age  of  enterprise,  of  endurance,  of 
common  trouble,  knit  warm  hearts  into  quick  friend- 
ships, and  the  Baskerville  ladies  had  not  often  so 
congenial  an  object  for  their  sympathy. 

Turned  into  a  by-road,  the  mules  proceeded  lei- 
surely; and  late  afternoon  found  our  fugitives,  after 
a  day  without  alarm,  on  the  banks  of  a  churning 
mountain  stream. 

"  Too  bad !  too  bad ! "  said  Mrs.  Baskerville,  sur- 
veying the  situation  with  her  keen  blue  eyes.  "As  I 
feared,  the  water  's  too  high  to  cross,  and  we  11  have 
to  camp  under  the  evergreens  yonder,  off  the  road, 
till  morning.  Come,  Scip,  draw  off  into  the  pines, 
and  get  the  fly- tent  up.  This  old  man  is  just  the  one 
we  needed,  is  n't  he!  Somehow,  things  always  happen 
for  the  best,  and  it 's  a  lovely  evening,  and  no  chance 
of  rain." 

Under  a  fragrant  roof  of  spruce  and  maple  boughs, 
couched  upon  waterproofs  spread  over  a  bed  of 
springy  moss,  Una  spent  her  first  night  beneath  the 
stars.  Sharing  "  Cousin  Septimia's  "  blankets,  with 
King  David  sleeping  across  her  feet,  she  drifted  off 
into  slumber  happily,  her  last  waking  act  to  murmur 
the  lines  her  mother  loved  to  say : 


And  nightly  pitoh  my  moving  tent 
A  day's  march  nearer  home. 


202  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

Nearer  home !  Una  was  at  home  soon,  through 
the  witchery  of  dreams.  Her  father's  arms  were 
around  her.  Her  mother  sat  there  smiling.  There 
was  no  war,  and  the  grave,  sweet  face  of  Sir  Lionel 
looked  at  her  from  his  frame,  a  "well  done"  for  her 
trust  fulfilled.  No  war !  Why,  where,  then,  was  Half 
No  war!  What  was  that  sharp  report  ringing  out 
upon  the  silence  of  the  hour  before  the  dawn  ?  A 
crack,  another,  and  yet  another.  Cries,  oaths,  groans, 
shot  after  shot  riddling  the  trees  around  their  hid- 
ing-place. 

They  knew  by  experience  what  it  was.  The  Valley 
women  were  broad  awake  in  a  minute,  their  hearts 
beating  fiercely,  but  calm  and  mistress  of  themselves. 
They  held  together  behind  the  tree-trunks,  the  ne- 
groes at  their  knees.  Hardly  a  word  passed  between 
them  while  the  skirmish  lasted. 

And  it  was  over  wonderfully  soon.  The  soldiers 
nearest  them  were  evidently  ambushed.  There  was 
the  sound  of  horses  plunging  and  struggling  in  the 
ford,  and  a  Southern  voice  cried  out : 

"  We  Ve  missed  'em,  boys.  Ride  to  the  upper  ford, 
and  head  'em  off.  We  '11  save  a  mile  and  catch  'em 
yet,  the  varmints ! " 

Una  clutched  King  David's  arm.  She  had  not  no- 
ticed that  the  old  man's  body  shielded  hers. 

"  King  David,  that 's  our  lieutenant's  voice." 

"  Sounds  mons'ous  like,  honey.  They  must  'a'  come 
here  and  hid,  arter  we  fell  asleepin'.  God  send  they 
ain't  any  of  'em  hurt." 

Ere  the  clattering  hoofs  had  ceased  to  echo,  dark- 
ness had  fled  before  the  rosy  touches  of  the  dawn. 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  203 

A  strange  light  crept  into  tlie  woods.  They  conld 
see  each  other's  faces,  blanched  and  set.  And  the 
birds  twittered  in  the  joy  of  day  returned. 

"  That  was  a  narrow  shave,"  said  Mrs.  Baskerville, 
looking  critically  at  a  bough  cut  by  a  Minie  ball  a 
foot  above  her  head.  Well,  Scip,  you  'd  better  har- 
ness up,  right  away.  We  '11  cross  at  the  upper  ford, 
and  take  the  short  cut  to  the  other  road." 

"I  heard  groans,  but  I  don't  see  any  dead  or 
wounded,"  said  Bess,  who  had  been  absent  on  inspec- 
tion of  the  outskirts  of  the  camp.  "  Mother,  I  don't 
mind  saying  now  that  I  've  had  about  enough  of 
war." 

Una,  dm-ing  the  bustle  of  preparation,  stole  aside. 
She  wanted  for  a  moment  to  be  alone  with  God. 

It  had  grown  brighter  in  the  wood.  A  squirrel 
running  down  a  tree  stopped  to  stare  at  her.  As 
he  sped  away  Una's  eyes  followed  him.  And  there, 
protruding  from  a  clump  of  undergrowth,  she  saw  a 
man's  dead  hand.  There  was  no  mistaking  him.  He 
lay  flat  upon  his  back,  his  huge  bulk  crushing  down 
a  bed  of  maidenhair  ferns,  his  flannel  shirt  stained 
at  the  breast,  his  sightless  eyes  wide  open.  It  was 
poor  John  Britton,  self-devoted  to  be  Una's  "frend 
til  deth." 


No,  this  was  no  time  to  waver,  when  her  feet  were 
so  near  the  bourn.  Mrs.  Baskerville,  who  cried  over 
and  kissed  Una,  and  pleaded  with  her  to  come  with 
them  and  wait  for  a  safe  chance  to  cross  the  Union  line, 
could  not  shake  the  girl's  resolve.    The  two  travelers 


204  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

were  still  beating  about  from  pillar  to  post,  taking 
the  fortune  of  the  road,  when  the  good  lady  and  her 
daughters,  with  their  impedimenta  of  ancestors  and 
sundries,  had  been  long  installed  in  comfortable  quar- 
ters. Many  days  were  lost  in  planning  for  oppor- 
tunities that  never  came  to  run  the  blockade.  Their 
store  of  money  was  nearly  exhausted,  the  month  had 
passed  away,  and  the  flame  of  hope  was  flickering 
in  the  socket.  Then  Una  declared  she  would  press 
forward  again  on  foot. 

They  set  out  through  the  ravaged  country,  where 
the  flying  crow  had  to  carry  his  rations  with  him; 
and,  after  various  adventures,  were  approaching  the 
vicinity  of  Mount  Airy,  when,  trudging  along  the 
highroad,  they  were  overtaken  by  a  body  of  Union 
cavalry,  well  mounted  and  equipped,  whose  debonair 
young  captain,  a-glitter  with  gold  lace,  pulled  up  at 
sight  of  them.  His  questions,  sharp  at  first,  grew 
gentle  as  the  answers  came,  and  seeing  the  girl's  con- 
dition, he  called  out  to  an  orderly  to  take  her  before 
him  on  his  horse  to  a  Dutch  farmhouse  a  mile  or  two 
away. 

"  Rode  two  days  with  rebel  scouts,  you  say  ? "  he 
ended,  with  a  laugh.  "Well,  when  you  get  back 
again  to  Dixie,  tell  'em  that  Uncle  Sam's  boys  don't 
mean  to  be  beat  by  them  in  taking  care  of  the  ladies, 
any  more  than  with  bayonets  or  sabers." 

He  rode  off,  touching  his  cap.  Una  had  not  seen 
so  gaily  caparisoned  a  cavalier  since  the  war  set  in. 
Too  worn  to  speak,  she  smiled  her  thanks  to  the 
orderly,  who  gathered  her,  lamb-fashion,  to  his  breast, 
told  her  he  had  "  a  little  'un  at  home,"  and  beguiled 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  205 

the  way  with  stories,  as  the  horse  left  King  David 
far  behind. 

The  Dutch  farmer's  wife,  who  gave  them  supper,  a 
bed  and  the  promise  of  a  hft  in  an  ox-cart  the  next 
day,  smiled  scornfully  when  she  saw  the  Confederate 
money  hoarded  for  this  last  expense.  But  she  re- 
lented afterward  and  took  it,  to  lay  away  in  a  stock- 
ing-leg as  a  memento  of  the  war,  perhaps ;  and  the 
farmei-'s  lad,  who  on  the  morrow  guided  his  slow 
beasts  hitched  to  a  pole  between  four  wheels,  on 
which  Una  and  King  David  could  with  difficulty 
maintain  their  balance,  took  them  a  good  mile  far- 
ther than  the  authorities  at  home  had  instructed  him 
to  go. 

Now  at  last  they  knew  themselves  to  be  within  but 
a  few  miles  of  home.  But  it  was  said  that  between 
them  and  Mount  Airy  stretched  a  blue  cordon  of  Union 
troops,  to  cross  which  no  wayfarers  were  allowed 
without  a  satisfactory  account  of  themselves,  and 
taking  an  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  United  States. 
Poor  little  Una  drew  the  rags  of  her  secessionism 
closer,  as  she  thought  of  this.  As  a  last  hope,  she 
determined  with  King  David  to  present  themselves 
in  forma  pauperis  at  the  nearest  Federal  headquar- 
ters, and  ask  leave  to  go  to  seek  her  father.  "  I  am 
not  afraid  of  the  Yankees,"  she  said,  '^  if  they  are  all 
like  that  captain  and  the  orderly  who  told  me  about 
his  child  at  home."    But  King  David  was  not  so  sure. 

They  had  yet  a  mile  to  walk.     The  burning  sun 

beat  on  the  hot  flints  of  the  turnpike  as  she  limped 

along  in  the  old  man's  wake.     It  would  have  been 

hard  to  recognize  in  this  thin,  wan  Una,  with  the 

18 


206  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

dark  circles  around  her  wistful  eyes,  the  shabby  frock 
and  torn  shoes,  the  fairy-beauty  of  her  father's  home. 
At  last  she  put  her  hand  to  her  brow,  and,  like 
the  reaper's  child  of  Scripture,  cried  out,  '^My  head! 
my  head ! "  and  King  David  caught  her,  as  she  reeled, 
upon  his  breast.  He  bore  her  underneath  a  leafy 
bower,  her  golden  hair  drooping  across  his  tatters, 
so  tired  himself  by  this  additional  exertion  that,  for 
a  moment  after  laying  her  upon  a  bed  of  moss,  he 
could  only  stand,  catching  his  breath  and  wiping  the 
mingled  sweat  and  dust  that  poured  down  his  wrin- 
kled face. 

''Even  if  I  dared  to  leave  her,  there  ain't  no  spring 
as  I  know  on,  hereabouts,"  David  said  to  himself, 
forlornly,  and  in  his  extremity  burst  into  tears. 

"Why  —  King  David,"  her  soft  voice  said  chid- 
ingly,  ''  you  're  not  really  crying  1  Crying  for  me  f 
See,  I  am  better  already,  since  we  've  come  out  of  the 
sun.  ...  If  it  had  been  Hal  who  was  taking  the 
message,  he  would  n't  have  broken  down.  .  .  .  Oh! 
I  am  sure  those  officers  won't  refuse  to  let  me  inside 
their  lines.  .  ,  .  Soldiers  will  surely  not  be  angry 
with  me  because  my  father  met  them  in  fair  fight 
and  Hal  was  killed.  .  .  .  Maybe  there  '11  be  one  who  '11 
think  about  his  own  children,  like  my  orderly;  and 
he  'R  understand  how  fathers  and  little  daughters 
want  each  other  .  .  .  dreadfully.'''  She  was  silent 
for  a  while,  crying  quietly.  David  knew  how  much 
these  rare  tears  meant.  Never  had  he  felt  his  ignor- 
ance, his  lowliness,  his  impotence  to  shape  events,  as 
now.  A  keen  sense  of  his  stewardship  to  her  absent 
parents  oppressed  his  conscientious   soul.     Act  he 


UNA  AND   KING   DAVID  207 

must,  but  whitlier  should  lie  turnf  Hobbling  down 
to  the  edge  of  the  road,  he  strained  his  eyes  up 
and  down  its  desert  length. 

What  was  yonder  cloud  of  luminous  vapor  rolling 
in  from  the  direction  whence  they  had  come  ?  That 
wave  of  sound  gathering  strength  and  substance  as 
it  reached  his  ear?  King  David  gazed  and  prayed, 
and  presently,  emerging  from  the  golden  mist,  he  saw, 
first,  horsemen  pacing  leisurely;  then  caissons  and 
guns,  and  after  them  rank  upon  rank  of  marching 
men  in  gray.  And  above  the  dust,  banners  of  scarlet 
crossed  with  blue.  And  above  the  noise  of  tramping 
feet,  a  chant  arising,  caught  up  along  the  line  and 
rendered  with  a  grand  sonorous  swing : 

"  She  breathes  —  she  burns  —  she  '11  come,  she  '11  come  ! 
Maryland !    My  Maryland ! " 

A  brave  sight  and  a  stirring  one,  wherever  seen, 
that  of  an  army  on  the  march!  When  the  first  de- 
tachment of  troops  was  called  to  a  halt  where  the  old 
negro  stood  entranced,  it  became  clear  that,  in  spite 
of  feet  bare  and  bleeding,  faces  flushed  and  eyes 
bloodshot  from  the  sun,  patched  garments  white 
with  dust,  and  empty  haversacks,  some  keen  exhilara- 
tion nerved  their  ranks. 

"I  say,  fellers,  I  don't  know  whether  Maryland  's 
a-burnin',  but  I  'm  tarnation  sure  I  be,"  cried  out  a 
veteran,  who  thus  easily  produced  a  laugh  among 
his  mates. 

"Is  there  any  little  commission  you  'd  like  us  to 
execute  for  you  in  Washington,  old  man?"  one  of 


208  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

them  remarked,  with  profuse  civility,  to  the  spell- 
bound David.  ''  Wrap  yer  compliments  up  in  a  neat 
package,  and  I  '11  take  care  that  President  Lincoln 
gets  'em  safe." 

"  Perhaps  you  're  traveling  back  Richmond  way, 
Brer  Pompey,"  observed  a  third  banterer.  "  If  you 
are,  please  call  on  Marse  Jeff  and  tell  him  you  saw 
me  on  the  way." 

David  turned,  bewildered,  to  a  soldier  encircled  with 
a  bristling  array  of  kitchen  implements,  and  carry- 
ing a  posy  on  his  bayonet. 

''  Which  way  air  you  goin',  if  I  may  make  so  bold, 
sir?" 

"  Well,  Uncle,  you  are  behind  the  times,"  the  man 
answered  cheerily,  "  not  to  know  we  're  part  of 
Early's  corps  marchin'  on  to  Washington." 

At  this  juncture,  Una,  fair  as  a  star  when  only  one 
is  shining  in  the  sky,  appeared  on  the  bank  above. 
King  David  forgot  everything  beside,  and  in  the 
voice  of  a  clarion  shouted  out : 

^'  Do  you  hear  that,  my  honey?  The  good  Lawd 
has  opened  a  way  a-purpus  for  you  to  git  to  see 
your  pa!" 


It  was  a  royal  progress  thenceforward.  Some  of 
the  ofdcers,  interesting  themselves  in  her  affair,  voted 
her  straightway  a  seat  on  a  caisson  to  finish  her 
journey  with  the  corps.  On  this  rude  chariot,  smoke- 
stained  with  recent  battles,  wreathed  with  wood- 
blossoms  by  the  men,  the  little  daughter  of  Mount 
Airy  forgot  the  sorrows  of  the  way,  forgot  uncertain- 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  209 

ties  ahead,  and,  thrilling  with  pride  and  pleasure, 
rode  on  the  wave  of  au  invading  army  to  the  very 
gateway  of  her  home. 

Cheered  to  the  echo  by  the  soldiers,  she  remained 
standing  beside  King  David  under  the  iron  arch  of 
the  outer  gate  at  the  entrance  of  the  old  familiar 
avenue,  till  the  glow  of  excitement  faded  with  the 
passing  of  the  troops.  Now,  she  was  possessed  by 
an  indefinable  dread  of  disappointment  to  come, 
and  this  she  saw  plainly  mirrored  in  the  old  negro's 
dog-like  eyes  that  followed  every  expression  of  her 
face.  Neither  dared  breathe  to  the  other  the  fear 
that,  ten  chances  to  one,  the  journey  had  been  made 
in  vain.  King  David  thought  of  those  many  weary 
miles  to  be  traversed  before  he  could  restore  his 
treasure  to  her  mother's  arms;  and  in  silence,  almost 
like  culprits,  they  took  their  way  along  the  grass- 
grown  avenue,  through  the  pine-woods  that  con- 
cealed the  house  from  immediate  view. 

Dusk  had  fallen,  and  their  first  glimpse  of  the  dwell- 
ing did  not  reassure  the  newcomers.  Shutters  were 
closed  over  the  double  row  of  windows  at  the  front; 
moss  and  grass  sprang  from  the  crevices  of  the  quaint 
pyramidal  flight  of  stone  steps  leading  to  the  great 
door  whose  very  fan-light  and  side-lights  were  blocked 
within.  The  long  arms  of  oak  trees  swept  the  slated 
roof  as  the  breeze  stirred  them.  A  "little  noiseless 
noise  among  the  leaves,"  the  even-song  of  insects,  was 
the  only  sign  of  life  that  had  made  the  place  so  dear. 
Chilled  and  spiritless,  the  two  stood  for  a  moment  on 
the  weedy  carriage-sweep,  gazing  up.  Then  King- 
David's  eyes  spied  a  faint  curl  of  smoke  issue  from 


210  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

a  pile  of  chimneys  at  the  rear,  and,  brightening,  he 
laid  his  hand  upon  the  heavy  knocker  of  the  door. 

"  Oh !  don't  knock.  King  David,"  the  child  cried, 
turning  whiter.  "  I  'm  not  ready  to  bear  .  .  . 
disappointment  yet." 

''I  reckon  I  'd  best  go  rouu'  to  the  back,  honey," 
he  said,  himself  glad  of  the  respite. 

When  she  heard  the  last  of  his  halting  movements, 
the  child's  physical  courage  for  the  first  time  failed. 
Trembling  like  a  leaf,  she  dropped  upon  the  upper 
step,  with  her  cheek  against  the  door.  A  cloud  came 
upon  her  brain.  She  did  not  hear  the  turning  of  the 
big  key  in  the  lock ;  she  knew  only  that  she  was  lifted 
up  and  carried  inside,  to  a  room  where  a  light  was 
burning  —  that  Mrs.  Ryan  had  hold  of  one  of  her 
hands  and  was  crying  while  she  held  water  to  her 
lips. 

"Papa?"  Una  gasped,  and  was  answered  by  King 
David's  tender  tones. 

"  Keep  strong,  my  honey,"  the  old  man  said,  trem- 
bling strangely.  "  The  Lawd,  that 's  bin  our  pillar  of 
fire  by  night  and  of  cloud  by  day,  has  given  you  your 
heart's  desire." 

The  child  sprang  to  her  feet,  every  nerve  strung, 
her  face  illumined  with  pure  joy.  Poor  Mrs.  Ryan, 
divided  between  anxiety  for  the  worn  little  creatui'e 
and  a  keen  desire  to  confer  instant  happiness,  knew 
not  which  way  to  look  in  answer  to  the  searching  of 
Una's  eyes.  Her  own  gaze  appealed  in  turn  to  David, 
who  nodded  a  joyful  yes.  Then  the  good  woman 
took  Una  by  the  hand,  and  leading  her  down  the  long 
corridor  to  the  study  door,  opened  it  and  gently 
pushed  the  child  within.     The  two  eager  listeners 


UNA  AND  KING  DAVID  211 

outside  heard  a  low  cry — another — a  flutter  as  of  a 
homing  dove,  and  King  David  stretched  forth  his 
hand  and  closed  the  door. 

"  There  ain't  no  ears  but  the  Lawd's  as  ought  to 
hear  my  little  mistis  give  her  message  to  her  pa,"  he 
said,  straightening  his  bowed  form  like  a  sentry  ou 
his  post. 

This  and  what  followed  is,  by  now,  ancient  history 
in  the  Old  Dominion.  The  case  of  Colonel  Henry  St. 
George  Eustis,  of  the  Virginia  Volunteers,  who,  struck 
by  a  bullet  on  the  left  side  of  his  head  at  Gettysburg, 
received  a  depressed  fracture  of  the  skull  which 
caused  paralysis,  with  months  of  absolute  loss  of 
memory  of  words,  and  of  inability  either  by  speech 
or  writing  to  convey  to  others  any  thought,  is  but 
one  of  many  like  cases  in  the  annals  of  that  time. 
It  was  through  the  good  offices  of  the  faithful  over- 
seer Eyan,  who  heard  from  his  son  the  Union  soldier 
that  Colonel  Eustis  had  been  seen  by  him  in  a 
prisoner's  hospital,  that  a  cure  was  accomplished. 
Ryan  had  bethought  him  to  make  appeal  to  an  old 
friend  of  the  Eustis  family  before  the  war,  in  the 
dignified  person  of  Secretary of  the Depart- 
ment at  Washington ;  who,  bethinking  him,  in  turn, 
of  many  pleasant  weeks  spent  in  boyhood  as  a  recipient 
of  Mount  Airy  hospitality,  promptly  made  up  his  mind 
to  see  that  the  hapless  prisoner  had  all  the  benefit 
of  modern  surgery  before  returning  to  the  custody  of 
his  friends.  An  operation,  performed  successfully  in 
a  hospital  at  Washington  about  the  latter  part  of  May, 
just  as  Una  had  set  forth  upon  her  quest,  had  been 
communicated  by  letter  to  Mrs.  Eustis  in  Virginia, 
and  the  prisoner  was  afterward  allowed,  on  parole, 


212  UNA  AND  KING  DAVID 

to  go  to  his  own  house,  in  charge  of  Ryan.  Even  as 
Una  had  crossed  the  threshold  of  her  home,  an  order 
was  on  its  way  thither  from  the  Bureau  of  Exchange 
of  Prisoners,  informing  Colonel  Eustis  that  he  was  to 
return  by  flag  of  truce  to  Richmond  and  to  his  wife, 
who  was  expecting  him  with  a  joy  tempered  only 
with  anxiety  for  the  welfare  of  their  daughter. 


There  is  a  new  portrait  on  the  wall  of  the  Mount 
Airy  dining-room,  facing  that  of  Sir  Lionel  who  "bore 
the  message"  long  ago.  It  is  of  a  brilliant,  handsome 
lad,  clad  in  a  soldier's  gray  woolen  shirt.  Above  it 
hangs  a  soldier's  cap,  wrapped  with  a  bit  of  crape — 
a  memento  of  his  share  in  the  war  for  Southern  inde- 
pendence which  Hal's  mother  cherishes.  Below  it  is 
a  picture  of  another  soldier  in  the  same  uniform, 
in  whose  lineaments  Mrs.  Ryan,  now  the  widowed 
housekeeper  of  Mount  Airy,  is  proud  to  recognize 
and  point  out  to  visitors  her  second  son,  Dennis, 
who  sleeps  in  Hollywood  at  Richmond.  Bill  Ryan, 
married  and  settled  in  place  of  his  father  as  over- 
seer of  the  Eustis  estate,  has  supplied  Mount  Airy 
with  another  edition  of  Denny,  in  the  person  of 
his  heir,  long-legged  and  freckled-faced;  and  the 
second  Denny  has  found  playmates  among  the  boys 
and  girls  born  at  the  "great  house"  since  the  war. 
But  under  the  honey-locusts  in  the  Mount  Airy  grave- 
yard rests  the  gentlest  heart  that  ever  beat  with 
love  for  Una.  Having  seen  his  "little  mistis"  with 
the  orange-blossoms  in  her  hair,  King  David  was 
satisfied  to  go. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


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BRARY  OF  THE 
VERSITY  OF 
H  CAROLINA 

AT 
lAPEL  HILL 

Llmer 
39 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 


Wilmer 
539 


